


We Had A Wham Bam Shang-A-Lang

by suckerformagic



Category: Daredevil (TV), Iron Fist (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Luke Cage (TV), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: After all the individual tv serieses, Bad Humor, Badass women doing badass things, Badly, Basically the first season of each defender’s own series + Spider-Man: Homecoming is where it’s at, Claire deserves better, Danny did not sign up for this, Danny is a mess of a hero but is trying anyways, Everyone has a guilt complex, Fighting and flashbacks, Human Disaster Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Matt Murdock's limited patience, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Peter and Matt have already known eachother for a while, Post-Civil War/Pre-Homecoming, Some chaotic fighting, a good deal of passing out, but like I want Peter to be a defender, everyone is hurt, my interpretation of the various canons, peter is constantly injured it's fine, strawberry icecream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2018-11-04 19:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 54,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10997361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suckerformagic/pseuds/suckerformagic
Summary: Danny was having a regularly horrible day when a certain spider-themed teenager crashes into him and his life suddenly becomes that one step more complicated.





	1. Haphazard Introductions

Danny was not having a great day. 

 

He woke up late, his tea had been over-brewed, and the second cup under-brewed, Colleen had yelled at him for something that wasn't his fault and his company was still in shambles.

 

Life is hard. 

 

But some days life is  _ extra _ hard. 

 

And so, being the super-trained optimistic ninja monk that he is, Danny decided to take a deep breath and a long walk. 

 

Earbuds in, he made his way through the better part of New York, not really paying attention to where he was going. His focus was inward, not outward, and the old hip-hop provided the perfect backdrop to ignoring everything and everyone he passed. By now it's gotten dark, and if he had to guess Danny would say that he was somewhere in Harlem, but he really didn't know for sure. He had a glowing fist, sue him for not having a built in GPS. Anyways, New York had gotten a lot bigger since he was young. 

 

It was Danny’s form of moving meditation, focus coming from the constant of movement and music, but eyes opened (as to not crash into anything). Needless to say, he cleared his head of everything outside the steady rhythm of his feet matching the steady rhythm of the music. Didn't notice the man yelling about how his bagels were the best in town, or the little girl stealing a boy’s balloon. He wandered into some back alley without even realizing he had turned. He didn't even hear the muffled yelling and movement because of the loud music in his ears. And for a moment, Danny was absolutely content.

 

And then something flew into him. 

 

More like  _ someone _ . 

 

A very distinctly red and blue someone. 

 

His years of super-ninja monk training kicked in subconsciously and he found himself turning before he could even register what was happening. A distinctly red and blue body whammed into his chest and he caught it by the shoulders, but the the force was strong enough to throw both him and said body into the cement wall.

 

He intended to say “Ouch” but it came out more like “What the fuck?”.

 

Being sandwiched between a wall and a guy in spandex was not exactly how he had seen his day going. Was the universe just out to get him or did he have incredibly bad luck?

 

The guy is red and blue groaned and pulled himself onto his feet. He seemed to reorient himself for a second before looking around, but it was hard to tell because of the ridiculous mask covering his face. He turned to Danny.

 

“Hey, sorry man. You alright? I mean, I just flew into you so probably not, but like how not okay are you? Because I can help but I have this like superhero thing I need to do, and if I stay over here too long my super-buddy might also get hurt and then I'd have to call two ambulances --though I guess I probably shouldn't call one for Double D, the whole identity thing and all. Oh god he's gonna kill me-- are you okay?” 

 

Danny blinked. The earbuds had fallen from his ears, and the music was loud enough that he could still hear a tinny voice coming from them but he completed disregarded them, instead taking in the absolute mess of a human-being in front of him. The guy was short and lean, and though he had a bulge of muscles on his shoulders and held himself with determination, he looked like he could maybe do with an extra meal or five. The mask made his eyes bore into you, and the edges of the eyepieces whirred and shifted with his gaze. The decorative spider on his chest and intricate webbing pattern were broken by the occasional scrape, but he seemed fine, not at all like he had just fallen through an alley and hit a stranger into a wall. Actually he seemed a little ramble-y, and he didn't ever stop moving, pointing and gesturing with every word.

 

“Hellooo? Earth to civilian? I didn't give you a concussion did I?” The vigilante waved his wand in front of Danny’s face.

 

“You're… you’re Spider-Man!” Danny had seen the videos, everyone had, even child monks who had been out of touch with society for years. The guy was plastered on newspapers, t-shirts and children’s lunchboxes across New York. Plus he could lift a bus, and anyone that strong caught Danny’s attention. 

 

“Wow, great detective skills man. Now, get out of here, and get some medical attention, if you need it. I'll just be on my way back to certain pain and probable death, Spidey out!” And with that Spider-Man shot a web and launched himself into the air. Danny could vaguely hear the sounds of fighting coming from a roof in that direction.

 

“Wait!” Danny called, but Spider-Man was already gone. Danny deserved another “What the fuck.” 

 

He pulled himself to his feet and shoved his iPod into the pocket of his hoodie. If there was a superhero level crisis he should go help right? He was sort of a vigilante, and he could do some damage. Point was, someone was probably in danger - Spider-Man mentioned a partner right? - now was not the time for mopey monks having half-formed existential crises. Right now the world didn't need Danny Rand, it needed Iron Fist, and on at least that, he could deliver. 

 

Or at least he thought so, but just as he looked around for a way over the roof, Spider-Man came flying back through the alleyway. He hit the wall harder this time, denting it. 

 

“Seriously?!” Spider-Man yelled, at nobody in particular, but as much spunk as he had in his voice, his posture was much more deflated. Being thrown into a wall twice would do that to you. Danny would know. The guy hadn't even gotten up yet.

 

“Are you okay?” The vigilante hadn't noticed that Danny was still present, and tilted his head inquisitively at his voice. 

 

“Yeah, absolutely fantastic, great, lovely, perfect. These guys can barely touch me.” Spidey stood up, as if to make the point that he was fine, but he had one hand placed protectively against his ribs. Bits of wall crumbled off his back.

 

“They just threw you off a building, twice,” Danny pointed out. 

 

“Like I said, barely touched me. Why are you still here? I thought I told you to call an ambulance or something.”

 

Danny opened his mouth to reply, but Spider-Man raised a hand to silence him and turned like he was listening to something. 

 

“Yeah I know there's like six of them… Six, twelve, whatever… You know I just got thrown off a building right? Like, at least twice--... Yeah yeah I got it DD, just give me a moment to deal with an innocent bystander will you?... Got it, got it.” 

 

Danny felt like he was missing half a conversation. “Comms?” 

 

“Nah, too much of a pain, plus the electric-y noise is annoying-- No man, one of the advantages of super hearing is long-distance communication with super-hearing buddies, though Double D’s hearing is better than mine, don't tell him I said that.” 

 

“Wouldn't he have heard you?” Spider-Man lens-thingies whirred and gave him a look of complete and utter surprise.

 

“Dang, you're right.” 

 

“Doesn't your friend need help? Twelve guys on one?” Danny swallowed, “I can help.” 

 

“Good listening blondie, but don't worry about him, he's taken like thirty guys before and been fine. Did I mention he's basically a ninja? Point is, leave, go somewhere safe, let the supers take of this. Now shoo.” Spider-Man placed placed his hands on Danny’s shoulders and turned him to face the end of the alley. The guy barely was as tall as Danny’s eyes. 

 

“Wait, you don't-” Danny resisted, but Spidey’s eyes flew wide and suddenly he was lunging forward, pushing Danny onto the filthy ground. Somewhere in there a gun sounded, and Spider-Man cried out. 

 

And once again Danny found himself sandwiched between a vigilante and cement. Was everyone’s life this confusing? 

 

He groaned and rolled over, Spider-Man sliding off in the process, with his own fair share of groaning, though his was probably more justified. Danny sat up, daring a glance at the man sprawled out next to him. 

 

It was not pretty. 

 

The bullet had not been on of the nice, cleanly in and cleanly out types; this was more the heavy duty, explode on impact kind and mess up everything. And explode it had. It had torn through the vigilante’s right side, which was now just a mess of blood, flesh and torn suit. Blood was pouring out onto the ground, turning the bright suit a deep crimson. Spider-Man hadn't even moved yet, only groaned. 

 

Danny jumped to his feet, looking around for the source of the bullet. A man, with a stupidly high-tech looking gun and weird glasses was standing on the edge of the roof, his gun pointed directly at Spider-Man. 

 

Danny made a quick decision. 

 

He scooped up Spider-Man and pulled him safely behind a dumpster, despite a small amount of resistance by the smaller man. He was really light for a guy who could lift buses, and his protesting was halfhearted at best. He seemed too preoccupied with not dying.

 

“What… the… heck,” wheezed Spider-Man between labored breaths. A bullet whizzed past Danny’s shoulder and buried itself in the ground, sizzling faintly. Danny glanced back at the roof, where the creepy gun guy was reloading. He was now joined by a big guy in a strange vest that had cables connecting to enormous metal gloves. This didn't bore well. 

 

Danny guided Spider-Man’s hand to his side to keep pressure on the wound, then stood, muttering “Stay here.” 

 

“Wait, blondie-- ” Spider-Man's protests were caught off by a coughing fit, but Danny pushed that out of his mind. First deal with the bad guys, then find medical attention.

 

He focused on the roof, where the two baddies were talking hurriedly. Danny couldn't hear them, but the one with the gun pointed at the alley, and the big one nodded. Then the big one jumped off the roof. 

 

Danny took a deep breath as the guy fell. Avoid the bullets, take down this doofus, find Spidey’s buddy, make sure Spidey doesn't die. Okay, he can do this. 

 

The guy hit the pavement with such weight that the ground shook, but Danny launched himself forward regardless. He sprinted, barely avoiding another bullet by the creep on the roof, and took two steps up the wall, then turned and brought his full weight and the force of gravity into a hard kick against the big gloves guy’s neck. 

 

This brought the man to his knees.

 

“Who the hell are you?!” The baddie made a grab at Danny’s legs with his tech gloves, but Danny jumped out of the way. 

 

“The Iron Fist,” he responded simply, then shoved his fist into the guy’s stomach. The big guy stumbled backwards and made a great wild swing that connected with Danny’s shoulder. It probably wouldn't have done much damage on its own, but the tech gloves added a lot of strength. That was definitely gonna bruise.

 

“What's with you vigilantes and stupid names?” he grunted, shifting his arms so the gloves clicked and whirred, much like Spidey’s eyepieces.

 

Danny connected his other hand with the guy’s face, open palm style. Then decided to give the baddie some sage advice.

 

“A battle of the fists is hardly won with words.” 

 

Then he knocked the guy unconscious. Time for the next one-- speaking of, he hadn't heard a gunshot in a while. With one last glance at the unconscious guy at his feet, Danny looked back at the roof. The creepy gun guy wasn't there, but a man in red was. 

 

Danny shifted into a fighting position as the man scaled the building. But when he hit the ground he didn't even look at Danny, instead heading straight for Spider-Man, who was still propped up behind the dumpster. 

 

Uh oh. 

 

Danny ran over, preparing to take the guy out, but then he noticed the horns on the top of his cowl.

 

“Daredevil,” he breathed, relaxing. Double D was Daredevil, Spider-Man’s friend. Another famous New York vigilante, though more shadowed and less popular.Red Kevlar and little horns had confidence practically oozing off of him, slightly counteracted by a mild limp and a wound in his side that he kept a hand on.

 

Daredevil turned his head to him, then crouched, reaching out to Spider-Man, who hadn't moved. Danny shifted from one foot to the other. Spidey’s mask made it difficult to discern any indication of life. 

 

“Is he…?” 

 

“Unconscious.”

 

“And the guy with the gun?” 

 

“I dealt with him.” 

 

“Um, shouldn't we-” 

 

“Phone,” demanded the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, holding out an expectant hand without even turning his head, “Mine shattered.” 

 

Danny fumbled for a moment, then pulled out his phone and handed it to Daredevil. The vigilante pulled off a glove with his teeth in a single swift, well-practiced motion and punched in a number, all without shifting his gaze from the injured Spider-Man sprawled out pathetically before him. It was all very unnerving. Danny was pretty sure his mother had told him not to hang his phone to creepy horned strangers in dark alleys. Sorry mom. 

 

And now Danny was thinking about his parents. Ouch. Double ouch. Stop, backtrack, full retreat. 

 

It's hard to make yourself not think about something when you keep telling yourself not to think about it. 

 

Danny shivered and shook his head to clear his thoughts. Without the sounds of fighting and guns, the alley was very quiet, and Danny could hear the phone on the other end of the line ringing, even though speaker was off, and when the call was picked up he could make out a familiar voice. 

 

“ _ Danny _ ?” Daredevil shifted his shoulders in curiosity, but Danny sighed in relief at the sound of Claire’s voice. If Daredevil knew Claire, he was trustworthy.

 

“Who's Danny?” Of course Danny wanted to interject, but Claire beat him to it. 

 

“ _ The guy who owns this phone, who is this? _ ” 

 

“Daredevil.” 

 

“ _ Is Danny there? _ ” Daredevil turned his head to Danny, who nodded. 

 

“Yes.”

 

There was a momentary pause.

 

“ _ Is he conscious? _ ”

 

“Yes.”

 

“ _ Thank god, put me on speaker _ .” Daredevil obliged, and Danny confirmed by saying,”Hi, Claire.”

 

“ _ Danny! Are you okay?”  _

 

“I'm fine, but we have a problem.” 

 

Claire let out a deep and exhausted sigh, “ _ What is it? _ ”

 

Daredevil was the one who answered. He simply said, “Spider-Man,” as if that explained everything. Apparently it did, because Claire gave a sigh of resignation. 

 

“ _ How bad is it? _ ”

 

“Pretty bad. Bullet wound from a weird bullet. It put something funny in his blood stream that has his heart pounding and is interfering with his breathing. His body temp is higher than normal and the wound itself is really inflamed.” Danny wondered how Daredevil could possibly know all that after barely touching Spider-Man.

 

“ _ Where? _ ”

 

“His side. Claire, he really needs you.” 

 

“ _ Dammit. This could be really bad. Where are you? _ ”

 

“Not sure, an alley somewhere in Harlem,” Daredevil stood, wincing and placing his free hand back on his side. “Danny, go see if you can find a street sign or something.”

 

Danny hesitated a moment, but it was just a moment. Spider-Man and Claire both trusted this man, unnerving or not, and together they were Spider-Man’s best shot. He ran down to the end of the alley and glanced around. Many of the street lights were out and he couldn't make out any street signs, but he took in a couple of the buildings and turned back to the alley. As he approached he could hear Daredevil still on the phone.

 

“Claire, can I trust him?

 

“ _ I would trust him with my life, _ ” was Claire's immediate response, and then as an afterthought she added, “ _ and yours Matt, and Peter’s _ .”

 

“Okay, thanks Claire. He's back.” Daredevil looked expectantly at Danny as he jogged up. The way his mask covered his eyes was creepy, but at the moment it made him look concerned. Or maybe that was the deep frown visible in the open part of the mask.

 

“I couldn't see any street signs, but there's a rundown Mexican place with a flower logo and a tiny motel, and a laundromat.” 

 

“ _ I think know where you are, and I can be there in about fifteen minutes. In the meantime I need you to move.” _

 

_ “ _ Are you sure?” asked Daredevil (or Matt; are you allowed to call someone by their name when they don't know that you know it?). 

 

“ _ I can't help him in a filthy alleyway, I need clean water and sterile supplies. I have a friend who owns a place a couple blocks from you, he should be out and won't mind if we use it. _ ” She gave them directions and reminded them to keep pressure on the bullet wound and not to jostle Spidey too much, then wished them luck and promised to be there soon as possible. After she hung up Daredevil/Matt handed back Danny’s phone and pulled on his glove.

 

“I'll carry him,” Danny offered. Less of an offer, more of a statement. 

 

“No,” refuted Daredevil easily. 

 

“Look,” started Danny, frustrated and anxious. This was starting to become his nature state of being; he really needed to work on the whole emotionless monk thing. “I know he's your friend, and I know he's badly hurt, but so are you. It’s no good to him if you stumble or jostle him or whatever. We don't have time for this, I have him, okay?” 

 

Matt considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Fine, but put pressure on the wound, tie your hoodie around it.” Danny obliged, awkwardly pulling off the hoodie and wrapping it around the vigilante, careful not to make it too tight or shift Spider-Man (Peter?) too much. Then he lifted the guy gently into his arms. 

 

Once again he found himself surprised at Spidey’s weight, or lack thereof. He was also radiating heat like a furnace, making Danny’s arms sweat. And there was blood everywhere, including Danny now. This was all a bit overwhelming. Also, ew. 

 

They made their way quickly but carefully to the address Claire had given. Danny focused on holding the injured Spider-Man and let Matt, who was limping along behind him, give directions. But even as they rushed along, Spider-Man was deteriorating in his arms. His temperature was steadily rising, even in the crisp New York evening, and the hoodie had almost entirely soaked crimson. Spidey’s breathing was shaky and inconsistent, even in his unconscious state. Danny could feel the unsteady rise and fall of Spidey’s chest and the tension seemed to build in Daredevil’s shoulders at every exhale.

 

Fortunately, it only took about seven minutes to get to the address: a ruddy barber shop with covers on all the windows and an lockless front door. The place was a disaster, somewhere between half rebuilt and half torn apart, but it would do. Danny took a moment to wonder what Claire’s friend was like. 

 

After they’d entered Daredevil slunk to a wall and leaned against it, but winced as he did so. He seemed to consider Danny for a moment, then lowered himself to sit on the floor with a groan. His injury must be worse than Danny had thought.

 

Danny shifted Spider-Man in his arms, then looked around for the best place to set him down. He selected the least bullet-riddled barber chair and carefully lowered the vigilante down into. He cast a sidelong glance at the bloody hoodie, but he knew there was nothing he could do until Claire got there. Instead he turned to Daredevil, who seemed to be staring at a broken mirror. 

 

“You okay?” 

 

“Fine.”

 

“Cause that looks pretty ba--”

 

“I'm fine.” 

 

Danny shifted uncomfortably. There was no way he could sit here in silence waiting, even if Daredevil was intent upon shutting down all conversation. He tried again.

 

“You know Claire?”

 

The Devil nodded. 

 

“How?”

 

“She found me in a dumpster,” he replied in absolute seriousness, still not breaking eye contact with the mirror.

 

Danny almost wanted to laugh, but the brevity of the situation and the smell of copper in the air weighed down on him. He opened his mouth to speak again, not really knowing what he was going to say, but was interrupted by a sudden onslaught of coughing from the previously unconscious vigilante in the barber chair. 

 

Danny rushed over and found himself wrestling with Spider-Man’s arms that were flailing in every direction. It was like a toddler having a tantrum, except the toddler was dying… and spider-themed. Bad metaphor. 

 

On the other side of the room Daredevil tried to push himself up but just fell back instead. Two dying vigilantes, even better. 

 

Daredevil must have resigned himself to the floor, because instead he spoke. “He's choking on his own blood, help him.”

 

Uh oh. 

 

Danny glanced at Spider-Man’s face, where, sure enough, the vigilante was spluttering and coughing as blood that couldn't escape through his mask was caught in his throat. A deep crimson stain crept from his mouth down his chin. Danny felt for a seam at Spidey’s neck, found it, and tugged the mask up.

 

Then several things happened at once. 

 

Daredevil called out a warning as Danny pulled the mask off. Spiderman’s eyes shot open and he punched Danny in the face with all his super-strength. Then Spider-Man was on the wall, and Danny was on the floor and Daredevil was still sitting hopelessly in the corner. 

 

Everyone stilled, all tense with fear of agitating the others.

 

Spider-Man’s eyes flicked around in panic as he continued to splutter blood, back pressed tightly to the wall. He took in the shop, and glanced at Daredevil, but it was only once his scared eyes met Danny’s that Danny really processed what he was seeing.

 

Spider-Man was  _ young _ . Not even like young adult young, like can't even drive yet young. Homecoming and AP test young. Not go out at night and beat up bad guys age, not even if you squinted. 

 

And then there was the other thing: his face was ashen. He looked absolutely ill, and as each second passed he features only seemed to deteriorate. Rapid, uneven breaths, dark bags under each bloodshot eye, sweaty hair plastered to his forehead and swollen veins at his temples only served to exacerbate his panicked appearance. 

 

Also: Spider-Man was a teenager. Danny was so not okay with this. 

 

But first things first: get the dying vigilante off the wall. Fortunately, Daredevil had his back on that one. 

 

“Spider-Man,” started Matt, clearly and calmly, “get off the wall.”

 

Spider-Man didn't move, maintaining his accusatory eye contact with Danny and wheezing. “He- he took off my mask.” 

 

“You were choking!” Wow, nice one Danny. Just keep raising the tension in a rundown barber shop full of half-dead vigilantes. This situation could do with more stress.

 

Matt was more patient, thank god. “Your identity is safe here, you can trust him, now get off the wall before you bleed to death.” 

 

“You still have your mask on.” 

 

Point Spider-Man. Daredevil just nodded, and, to show his trust, he pulled the cowl back. Underneath it, Daredevil looked like... a regular guy. Albeit a beat up and exhausted regular guy with a mop of reddish hair and an stubbled chin, but a regular one nonetheless, though something was weird about his eyes that Danny couldn't place. It didn't really matter anyways, Spider-Man was first priority. 

 

Matt spoke slowly, making sure to properly communicate with Spidey’s fearful and feverish state. “This is Danny, he knows Claire, we can trust him. Now please, get down.” 

 

Spider-Man visibly deflated, all the adrenaline from a moment before cycling out of his system. He sank down the wall and Danny hurried over to help him. Spidey reluctantly fell into his arms, and Danny all but carried him back to the barber chair. Spidey collapsed into it with a groan and squeezed his eyes shut. Nearly all color was gone from his face now, and his heavy breathing filled the room. He muttered an almost silent “thanks” to which Danny just nodded, though Spider-Man’s eyes were closed so it probably went unreceived.

 

Daredevil hadn't moved from his seat on the floor, which made Danny suspicious of the severity of his injury. His eyes, now that Danny had a chance to actually look at them, were pale and unfocused, and though they vaguely slid around the room, it didn't really look like he was  _ seeing  _ anything. Danny stared. 

 

“You're blind.” 

 

Daredevil shrugged and Spider-Man gave a sort of weak wheezy laugh. His brow was lined with sweat and he still had his eyes tightly shut. 

 

Spider-Man changed the subject in a quiet voice. “So do you guys-” he winced and shifted a little, “have like, a plan, or something? Or are you just gonna leave a guy to bleed out slowly in a rundown barber shop?” 

 

“Claire’s-” Danny started, but Matt interrupted him. 

 

“She's here.” 

 

And sure enough, a moment later a tense and sleep deprived nurse with bedhead and bag of supplies pushed through the door. 

 

“ _ Peter,”  _ she breathed. Spider-Man open his eyes the smallest amount and gave a sort of pathetic finger wave accompanied by a weak smile. 

 

“Hi Claire,” he said weakly. 

 

She rushed forward like a storm, giving Daredevil a half glance and shoving something into Danny’s hands all in the same motion. She arrived at Spidey/Peter’s side and leaned over him. 

 

“You know that I'd kill you if you weren't already dying.” 

 

Peter gave another weak squinty smile, just meeting Claire’s eyes. “I know.” 

 

Claire threw one last glance over her shoulder at Danny, who was dumbly standing with the mini first-aid kit cradled in his hands. 

 

“You know basic first aid?” 

 

Danny nodded.

 

“Patch up Matt for me, I need to focus on this idiot.”

 

From the other side of the room, Daredevil groaned, “Claire, identities.”

 

She threw him a look that he probably couldn't see. “I don't care about your silly super-names  _ Matthew,  _ you are patients here, and we are going to call each other  _ regular  _ names like  _ regular  _ people,” Claire turned back to Peter, “and Danny, get Matt off the floor.” 

 

By the time Danny had helped the reluctant Matt to a barber chair, Claire already had the kid’s suit off. He wasn't sure how, as he had been focusing on not letting Daredevil stand on his own (as stubborn as the vigilante was), but there had been a weird noise and then the whole thing was a crumpled heap on the floor. Now Peter sat in just his boxers, shivering slightly, despite his high temperature. 

 

Claire pulled on some purple latex gloves and got to work. She pulled up various tools and swabs and bandage things from he bag as she asked Peter what had happened, though Danny wasn't sure if it was it was out of curiosity or to distract him from the pain. Or both. Probably both. 

 

The kid started quietly and breathily on about some crazy adventure he and Daredevil had had leading up to the creeps in the alley, with Claire nodding and murmuring affirmations absently. 

 

Danny turned back to Matt and dug through the kit Claire had given him, fishing around for the right supplies. Daredevil had been stabbed right where the top half of the met the bottom, just about the belt. It was deep, and a little discolored, but he would probably be fine. 

 

Danny fumbled with the tiny container of Peroxide and pulled the cap off. It didn't help that two chaired down Peter kept making pained noises as Claire pulled bits of bullet out of his torso. Danny tried to push it aside - Claire has him, Claire has him - but it was hard to just ignore an injured kid. He instead tried to focus on Matt. 

 

“I'm going to disinfect it.” 

 

Matt nodded, eyes gently closed. 

 

Danny proceeded, and watched Matt’s wound sizzle as the guy winced, but didn't say anything. He seemed to be focusing on Peter, despite not looking at him, but his head and all his body language pointed in that direction. Peter’s narrative had already fizzled out, though he certainly hadn't finished the story, and both Claire and Daredevil (and therefore Danny) were growing tenser by the minute. 

The wound was painful looking, and fairly deep, but not wide enough for stitches. Gauze and bandages it is. As Danny started the patching up process, Claire spoke again. 

 

“I have the bullet out. Can you tell if there’s any internal bleeding? I can't close him up if there is.” 

 

Matt thought for a moment and then said, “I don't think so.” Danny was left wondering just how good this guy’s hearing was. 

 

 

Thanks to Claire and Danny’s hard work (mostly Claire), soon both vigilantes were no longer rapidly losing blood and were thoroughly bandaged. Aside from the bullet and stab wounds, Matt’s very sprained ankle was splinted, Peter’s concussion identified and his bruised ribs dealt with. Every various cut, scrape and bruise was dealt with, leaving only one problem remaining: whatever the hell was wrong with Peter. 

 

He was still coughing blood, though Matt insisted that there was no internal bleeding, and his fever was still rising. He hadn't said anything in a while, giving only giving curt nods and shakes of his head in response. He also wouldn't open his eyes, despite Claire’s requests to check his pupils, and had been continually clenching and unclenching his fists in pain. Across his scar-ridden torso (what the hell had this kid been through?) his veins were swollen, but he still looked positively gray in complexion. 

 

Claire was pacing, Danny standing, and Matt had a comforting hand on Peter’s shoulder. The tension was as high as Peter’s fever. 

 

“Are you sure there's nothing we can do?” asked Danny earnestly. He felt absolutely unhelpful, and that was only adding to his building anxiety. 

 

“That bullet was carrying some kind of toxin,” said Claire, checking Peter’s bandages for the tenth time, underneath the wound was red and inflamed, though the bleeding had died down, “it's likely some kind of bioweapon designed specifically for his unique physiology, eating up his lungs and doing all of this,” she gestured vaguely at Peter, then she sighed, “I’m just a nurse Danny, a damn good nurse but I can't do anything about this. I don't know if even a hospital could deal with this. We just have to wait it out and let his immune system fight it.” 

 

“You said he has advanced healing right?” said Danny, massaging his definitely bruised shoulder. He had also developed an impressive black eye from where Peter had punched him. The kid may be dying, but he was still crazy strong. “Shouldn't his body just handle it?” 

 

Claire shook her head. “I don't know, he could just be burning through the toxin, or it could be burning through him. His healing factor may not be able to keep up.” 

 

“What about Tony Stark?” said Matt, from Peter's side. Danny had (per Claire’s instructions) pulled a non-barber chair up next to the teenager for him to sit on. He had sunken into it, as tired as everyone else in the room, but by his body language still held an air of command and self-control about him. 

 

“What about him?” 

 

“Well, he’s Peter’s friend right? Crazy smart and crazy rich, he probably has access to something that could help him.” 

 

“Actually,” said Danny interrupted quietly, thinking, “there could be another way.” Danny bounced his fist in the palm of his other hand.

 

Claire and Matt immediately turned all their attention to him. Peter, as if to illustrate the urgency of the situation, let out a light groan of pain.

 

“What way?” pressed Matt, but Danny didn't answer. He just glanced down at his fist, then at Peter. Claire caught on.

 

“Last time you did that you passed out.”

 

Danny paused his nervous movement and looked Claire in the eyes, “I’ll live,” he tilted his head towards Peter, “he may not.” 

 

Claire stared at him for a moment, then ran a hand through her hair. 

 

“Let’s do it.” 

 

Matt, who was definitely not on the same pages as everyone else, looked bewildered. “Wait, what are we doing?” He questioned, as Danny moved towards Peter's side and took a deep breath, pulling his hands down as he inhaled. 

 

“The same thing you do every night,” answered Claire, “saving someone using weird powers and no sense of self preservation.” 

 

Matt’s unseeing eyes widened. And then, as Danny pulled his energy into his hand, they widened further. But Danny wasn't really paying attention. He closed his eyes and took another deep, full breath, focusing as much on the careful movement of air as the energy centered in his palm. 

 

“Peter, are you ready?” asked Claire gently. He must have nodded, because she pulled back the bandages and said, “go ahead Danny.” 

 

The two watched (or in Matt’s case, felt/smelled/heard, whatever) in strange fascination as Danny opened his glowing fist and hovered his hand above Peter’s side. He could feel the toxins in Peter’s blood, in his lungs, poisoning his side, moving throughout his body. He scrunched up his eyes.

 

He could feel the sting of the bullet wound, the feverish heartbeat and tight skin, and all of the onset pain. It hurt.  _ Everything  _ hurt. He didn't know how Peter wasn't screaming yet. 

 

He took a shaky breath, pulling out of the pain and focusing on the poison. It wasn't hard to locate; the toxins were corroding their way through Peter’s body as loudly and violently as possibly, doing the most harm at his lungs and the place where the bullet had hit. 

 

Danny swallowed; this was gonna hurt.

 

Then he placed his hand on Peter’s side. Everything went hot and white, and the kid let out a well-deserved scream, but Danny pushed it aside. The world was humming and his mouth tasted like copper as Danny wrestled with the poison, pulling it towards the bullet wound and smiting it simultaneously. He grunted, and Peter released another strangled scream, entire body tense. Everything was warm and tight and sharp all at once. 

 

He could feel the wound closing up under his touch as the toxins burned away. He tried to focus on also repairing Peter’s ribs and concussion, but the glow was fading from his hand and he could already feel himself slipping. The energy faded from his body as the wound finished stitching itself together, and he could feel Peter relaxing beneath his palm. 

 

Then it was gone, and Danny fluttered his eyes open. Both he and the teenager were panting, but most of the color had returned to Peter’s skin. The kid’s eyes were still shut, but not tightly like before. The wound was entirely closed, albeit a bit red, but certainly much better then before. Even the bruise peeking out from the bandages around Peter’s ribs was lighter. 

 

Matt ran his fingers gently over the place where the bullet wound had been in awe, while Claire glanced back and forth between Peter’s heaving chest and Danny’s tired eyes. He gave a breathless smile. 

 

And then the lack of energy set into his body. His shoulders sagged and the aching in his shoulder and face really set in for the first time. Suddenly he was very dizzy, and placed a hand on the armrest of Peter’s chair to steady himself, but it slipped off the cheap upholstery. Stupid cheap barber chairs. Stupid sweaty traitor hand.

 

He crumpled into Claire, who was a bit unprepared to catch him. She reacted quickly however, wrapping an arm around his middle and other firmly on his chest to steady him. 

 

“Danny? Danny!” 

 

He tried to hold himself up, and not dump all his body weight on Claire, but his legs had turned to noodles and his vision had gone all hazy. It was that feeling off collapsing into a warm bed after a really hard day and not wanting to move every again. Except Claire was the bed. Hm. 

 

“Don't you dare pass out on me yet,” she muttered.

 

Claire guided him carefully over to the closest barber chair and patiently hefted him into it. Damn she was strong. All the while Danny struggled to keep his eyes open, and also breath correctly. Breathing was important. 

 

The edges of his vision danced with black dots as he ungracefully fell into the chair. Mm, comfy, despite the cheap upholstery. It was exactly the kind of chair you'd want to get your hair cut in, maybe minus the bullet holes. He did need a haircut, maybe Claire’s friend was a barber and could help him out. He was particularly bad at maintaining his hair at a reasonable length. Living in a monastery does that to you. 

 

He focused unsuccessfully on Claire’s features, then to the side where the blurry figure of Matt was talking to the blurry shirtless teenager. He couldn't make out what was being said, or any noise really. Everything was buzzing, but that didn't matter, because it was all quickly fading to black. 

 

\-------

 

Peter was having a rough night.  

 

Like, six rough nights really, all thrown into one. 

 

It had started out as a good day actually. He had gotten over 4 hours of sleep for once, got an A on a paper and the school lunch had the rainbow sherbet ice cream cup things. Those are the best.

 

Patrol had started good. He had stopped some petty crimes, and you know, generally spread the love. Everything had gone downhill when he met up with Daredevil. 

 

Their target was Roxxon; apparently rumors were circulating about shady things happening there. And the two vigilantes certainly discovered some shady stuff, by then had been chased out by a bunch of scary guys with creepy tech.

 

And then Peter got thrown off a roof. 

 

Twice. 

 

Oh and shot with a toxic bullet designed specifically to tear him apart from the inside, that also happened.

 

Hard times. 

 

Thank god for strangers with glowing hands though. 

 

However, next time make the saving a bit less painful? Not that Peter was complaining, not dying is great, but also: ow. Whatever that voodoo magic was it hurt like the dickens, and it certainly did not agree with his Spidey-sense. 

 

Speaking of Spidey-sense, never get poisoned with it. Because your mind keeps trying to 

warn you of the danger but you already know it's hurting you so you become a shaky mess with a migraine on top of slowing dying. 

 

That's where Peter was recovering from now: lying in a plasticy barber chair (why they were in a rundown barber shop, Peter had no idea) and trying to remind his body how to breath like a normal human. 

 

Also he was in just his tighty-whities. That wasn't embrassing at all.

 

His body still ached from everything that it had just gone through, and by the slow rate his mind was moving, Peter guessed at a concussion. Also his lungs were incredibly unhappy right now. What he would do for some pain meds.

 

Stupid healing factor making pain meds worthless on him.

 

Also: thanks healing factor, keeping him from dying and all that, keep it up. 

 

Everything has its pros and cons. 

 

Anyhoot, Peter blinked his eyes open to find Claire holding up the entire weight of Blondie (Peter was fairly certain that the guy's name was Danny, but he had been very not okay when he was introduced, so who knows. Maybe it was Manny, or Dandy.), who looked like he was about to pass out. Hmm, guess voodoo magic has its downsides? Peter suddenly felt very bad for punching the guy in the face.

 

He slid his eyes to the side, where he found Matt, face contorted with concern and lack of sleep. That was probably Peter’s fault, whoopsie. Matt had a hand held carefully on his shoulder, for which Peter was grateful. 

 

“ _ Peter _ ,” breathed Matt, though there's no way he could have seen the eye contact. Maybe he heard Peter’s eyes opening, or swiveling around in his eye sockets. Ew. 

 

 

“Yo.” He had meant it sarcastically, but it had come out raspy and croaked. Like an old man who had only recently quit smoking. Didn't stop Peter from speaking more though. “Long time no see.” 

 

Matt gave half of an endearing smile. “Had us worried there for a moment.” 

 

“Me? Worry you? Nahhh, I'm invincible. Nothing can touch me.” 

 

“So you didn't get shot?” 

 

“Details,” dismissed Peter with an absent wave of his hand. 

 

Then Claire appeared at his side. She had bags under her eyes and a relieved but unhappy look on her face, like she had been dealing with several injured vigilantes all night. Whoops. 

 

She placed a finger on Peter's chest, and each word she said was punctuated by an accusatory yet gentle tap. “Don't. You. Ever. Do. That. Again.” 

 

Peter gave a mock salute. “Yes Ma’am.”

 

“Peter, I'm serious.” 

 

“Me too, being shot with toxic bullets sucks.” She gave him an exasperated look, and he retaliated with a lopsided grin. 

 

She smiled and gave his chest one final tap before straightening. “I need some sleep,” she turned to Matt, “I know it's useless to tell you to rest too, so watch these guys for me? I'll be in the back, call me if Danny wakes up or if someone gets worse.” 

 

Matt nodded diligently and Claire turn to leave, but Peter caught her wrist. 

 

“Thank you.” 

 

“Of course Peter.” She turned again, but Peter didn't let go. He wanted to say something, anything, by couldn't figure out the words. Somewhere between a thank you and a sorry but neither at the same time. Maybe that was the mild concussion speaking. Peter wasn't sure, but he just went for it, warmth building in his face at every word. 

 

“I mean it Claire, I know I'm super reckless and I get injured a lot, and I know I wake you up at crazy hours cause I'm bleeding out in a back alley somewhere, and I'm sorry, you're probably the only reason I'm still alive right now and--” 

 

“Peter,” interrupted Claire. His eyes were filling with water and he was struggling to meet her eyes. Stupid traitor tears. Claire continued, “Of course you're a reckless idiot, but that doesn't mean I won't be there to patch you up. Someone needs to protect New York right?” 

 

Peter nodded, biting his lip. A few stray tears made their way down his cheeks. Wow, how mature Parker. Then again, he was in his underwear.

 

“Well someone needs to protect the guys protecting New York,” she gave a nod towards Matt, “That's why I do this. Don't be sorry, I chose this, just like you did.” 

 

“Okay,” whispered Peter, voice cracking. Matt gave his shoulder a gently pat; he wasn't too good with emotional things, but Peter found his presence reassuring nonetheless. 

 

Claire gave his knee a pat and then headed for the back. She  _ so  _ deserved sleep.

 

Peter glanced over at the unconscious form of Danny sprawled across the shoddy barber chair. The expression on face was similar to a kicked puppy, and Peter felt an enormous swell of gratitude for the guy. It had hurt, but Danny had saved his life. Peter's mind raced with a thousand ways to repay him.

 

“Peter?” said a voice at his side. He rolled his head to face a tired looking Matt. He totally owed him too. Peter’s eyes lost focus for a second and he had to blink four times to see Matt properly again.

 

“Mm?” 

 

“You okay?” 

 

“Mm.”

 

“Peter, that's not an answer.”

 

“I’m great, Matt. Really great.” Peter smiled, and Matt smiled too. Not that lawyer smile he uses to mask his emotions, the genuine one. 

 

“Good.” 


	2. One Particularly Stubborn Strawberry Icecream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaotic second meetings between several hardheaded vigilantes.  
> Oh, and they break into Roxxon.

The next time Matt saw Danny conscious was four days later.

 

He had fallen to sleep not long after Claire in the rundown barber shop (though he had tried to stay awake to make sure Peter was okay, guess the exhaustion had gotten to him), and he had woken the next morning to find Danny gone and a note from Claire saying she had taken him home. It also had several reminders to rest and make sure Peter healed properly.

 

Peter had slept through basically the entire next day, though Matt wasn't surprised. Whenever Peter needed to heal his body seemed to shut down to allow itself time to catch up with his reckless behavior. But the kid had woken that night full of spunk and energy, almost entirely healed and incredibly hungry.

 

Matt himself wasn't doing too bad either. The cut in his side was mostly closed up at this point, and though it still stung when he moved it was at the point where he could ignore it now. His ankle was also doing better, and though he should probably be following Claire’s instructions to rest, he had more important things to do.

 

He had made Peter begrudgingly promise not to patrol for two days. So Matt was a hypocrite, sue him. He could beat you in court any day.

 

It was late afternoon. A dusty wet scent hung over New York in the way it always does before a big rain, and Matt was just leaving a client visit in Brooklyn. The street was fairly crowded, but one of the perks of being blind was that most everyone parted to stay out of your way. It was nice to not have to bump into every single passerby.

 

Matt was passing a street vender when he caught Danny’s scent: the kind of earthy herbal smell somewhere between refreshing and in need of a shower. He stopped abruptly, causing some women behind him to walk right into his back. She got ready to complain at him, but after seeing the cane and tinted glasses seemed to think better of it and walked off.

 

Danny was a couple yards away, leaning absently on a brick building. Matt would've noticed him earlier, but the mass of human scents and city noises always stifled his awareness. Tinny hip hop spilled from Danny’s earbuds and his posture was very relaxed, heartbeat steady. He was slowly making his way through an ice cream cone. Strawberry, if Matt’s nose was correct, and it always was.

 

He seemed totally recovered from passing out, and the bruising on his eye and shoulder was mostly gone. Weird magic probably, Matt concluded. He was still unsure how to feel about that.

 

Suddenly Matt realized that he was holding up the flow of the crowd, and started towards Danny. He didn't really have a plan, but he figured he owed the guy _something_ after he saved Peter's life.

 

Matt wrapped a hand around Danny’s forearm as he passed, dragging him into an alley. The man didn't really resist, just stumbled along in surprise, He nearly lost his ice cream in the process, but just rebalanced himself enough to keep it in his hand.

 

“Danny.”

 

Danny stared, taking in the blind man in front of him. Matt had to admit that the glasses and cane really changed his appearance. Blind was the perfect cover for a vigilante.

 

“Daredevil,” he breathed. The earbuds had fallen out of his ears, but he made no effort to replace them

 

Matt huffed and shifted his shoulders, releasing Danny’s arm. “Call me Matt when I'm not in costume.”

 

Danny nodded slowly. He glanced back at the street, then back at Matt incredulously.

 

“Why are you here? Is something wrong? How's Peter?”

 

Matt shook his head, effectively silencing Danny.

 

“Peter’s fine.”

 

Tension melted from Danny’s shoulders and his heartbeat slowed almost imperceptibly. But even the moment of relief didn't slow Danny down. The guy never stopped moving and gesturing, somehow still not losing his ice cream in the process.

 

“You know he's just a kid right? He shouldn't be doing this whole run around at night beating people up thing!”

 

Matt huffed. He had this conversation with Peter when he first learned his age, and then many times after that. After much, much argument Matt had figured that Peter would be Spider-Man no matter what he did, so Matt had promised himself (and Claire) that he would protect the kid. He didn't, however, need to have this conversation with Mr. Glowing Fist here.

 

“Keep your voice down.”

 

That didn't stop Danny though.

 

“And what about those creepy guys with the huge tech? They're still out there right?”

 

Matt shifted his cane to his other hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. A few minutes with Danny and he already had a headache. As grateful as he was to the guy, he was struggling to maintain his composure.

 

“Peter and I are going to deal with them, but I-”

 

“I'm coming with you.”

 

Danny stopped moving as he came to this conclusion. The icecream was practically parallel to the ground at this point, and Matt really couldn't rationalize how it was staying on the cone.  

 

“No.”

 

This was not at all where Matt had intended the conversation to go.

 

“You guys nearly died last time you took them on, you need me.” Matt couldn't deny that, but he could still argue, he wasn't one hell of a lawyer for nothing. His building headache protested the thought of formulating a real reason though, so he settled for “You can't come”.

 

Danny however, lawyer or not, could argue as well.

 

“Peter could've died if I wasn't there. This needs more than just you two. I can help,” he refuted, voice low. Dammit. Maybe they could use him. They did owe him one, after all. And Matt really just wanted this conversation to end.

 

“Fine,” Matt conceded begrudgingly, “but you have to do everything I tell you to.”

 

Danny straightened his cone and nodded, maybe a little smugly.

 

Matt told him the when and where, and then made a hasty excuse to leave Danny alone with his ice cream. He needed some empty space and maybe to meditate if he was going have any more interaction with Danny. He was a similar to Peter, eager and impulsive and with good intent, but a bit more hot-headed and naive. There was also something about Danny that really threw him off (though to his credit Peter had given Matt a fair share of headaches as well).

 

Maybe it was the weird energy that seemed to permeate within him, though Matt couldn't tell which of his senses could discern it. Maybe all of them.

 

Anyways, this was how Matt found himself on a rooftop in full Daredevil garb with Danny several hours later, awaiting a spectacularly late teenage vigilante.

 

A heavy wetness hung in the air that convinced Matt that the entire sky was covered in storm clouds. Night long since fallen and though it was a quieter part of the city, Matt had to focus to tune out the useless sounds and voices that flooded his ears. His companion was not exactly helping.

 

Danny kept trying to make conversation, Matt kept refusing to indulge him, and the whole thing was incredibly awkward. He really hoped Peter would show up soon; Matt hated this.

 

“Look,” he said, interrupting whatever babble Danny had been trying to fill space with. “I meant to say this earlier, but, thank you, you did an great thing last week, though I’m still not entirely sure how you did it, but I’m certain that you saved Peter's life, and I don't know if that's something I could ever repay you for.”

 

Danny blinked, tilting his head to the side inquisitively at Matt’s sudden talkativeness. He seemed to mull over Matt’s words for a moment before finally opening his mouth to reply.

 

“Anyone would've done it.”

 

In the distance, Matt could just pick out a rapid heartbeat steadily approaching them, along with the sharp artificial scent of web fluid and Peter’s cheap shampoo. Finally. He straightened and shifted his shoulders.

 

“I'm not so sure about that.” Then he smirked and  extended a hand to Danny, “I'm Matt Murdock by the way.”

 

Danny made a weird face that Matt is sure would have been humorous if he could actually see. He grasped Matt's hand and gave it a firm shake. “Danny Rand.”

 

Just then Spider-Man tumbled onto the rooftop. At first he was a mess of limbs and sweat but after he found his balance he was in his feet in a second. Matt could smell the slightest bit of copper in the air and heard the creak of a cracked rib, but the injuries seemed minor. There was also a harsh smell of ash and smoke clinging to his suit.

 

“You're _Danny Rand_?”

 

Danny, startled by the sudden appearance, dropped Matt's hand and turned to Peter.

 

“Like owner of _Rand Enterprises_ Danny Rand? _Missing and thought dead until recently_ Danny Rand?”

 

Danny gave an uncertain nod. Matt could hear Peter’s eyepieces whirring as he looked at Danny in surprise. This was interesting, magic hand ninja man was also the rich kid who went missing. However, Peter took first priority.

 

“Where the hell have you been?” interrupted Matt. The last time Matt had seen Peter was a day previously, when he had checked in to make sure he was recovering properly and they had hatched this plan to infiltrate Roxxon. The kid had been fully healed at that point, and, clearly, he had gone and gotten beaten up again. He doesn't do anything halfway, this one.

 

Peter shifted his weight from his heels to his toes and back again. As he did so, his rib creaked revealingly.

 

“Oh, you know, I was around, forgot about this plan- Why is he here?” he said, pointing at Danny.

 

Matt ignored his question. “ _Spider-Man_.”

 

“Okay so I may have stopped a bank robbery, and some jerk in an alleyway who was trying to rob this old man.”

 

Matt waited expectantly, giving Peter the I-Don't-Buy-Your-Bullshit-I-Literally-Know-When-You're-Lying look. It was hard to give sharp looks as a blind man, especially because he was never sure if his eyes were finding their target, but the Daredevil suit helped up the intimidation factor. He also was particularly well practiced at dealing with Peter's nonsense, which helped.

 

“...and a fire.”

 

“ _Spider-Man,”_ stressed Matt. At the same time Danny said, “Are you okay?”

 

Peter blinked at the two of them, unsure who to answer first.

 

“Um, yes?”

 

Matt stepped up to Peter and ran his hands over all the injuries he could find. All seemed like minor scrapes and bruises that were already knitting themselves together. Damn super healing. Not that Matt was jealous.

 

“So, um, Danny,” said Peter, blood rushing to his cheeks as Matt checked him over, “What brings you here?”

 

“Ma- Daredevil invited me.”

 

Peter looked at Matt incredulously, who now had his hands on Peter’s sides, feeling how the cracked rib moved when the kid breathed. The bone was fusing back together under his fingertips, cool.

 

“ _Really?_ ”

 

Danny nodded, confused.

 

Matt straightened, satisfied that Peter wouldn’t pass out or anything midway through their mission. “Danny is going to assist us on this one. You’d know that if you’d been here an hour ago.”

 

Peter gave a sheepish laugh and placed a hand on the back of his neck. It’s hard to be angry at Peter’s naturally ingenuous nature, but Matt resisted a smile. Now was not the time. He gave a pointed glance at his two companions instead.

 

“The plan is to enter through two of the third floor windows of the Roxxon building simultaneously, effectively bypassing their main security measures. Danny, you'll be with Spider-Man. Then we’ll take out all workers as quickly and as silently as possible. That floor should have the least people on it. If any of them manage to sound the alarm, we leave, immediately. After that we gather intel and get out as fast as possible. Remember, this is an unlisted site, so there could be anything in there. Be on guard at all times. Understood?”

 

Danny nodded, but Peter raised his hand.

 

“One problem boss, Mr. Trillionaire here is not dressed appropriately,” he said, pointing both fingers at Danny.

 

“What do you mean?” asked Matt, bringing his eyebrows together. In the same moment Danny muttered, “I’m not a trillionaire,” under his breath.

 

Peter grabbed Matt’s hand and placed it on Danny’s face; so much for avoiding awkward, thanks a lot Peter. But after he recovered from the initial shock Matt could feel what was Peter was talking about: Danny didn't have a mask. Through his glove Matt could also feel a short scraggly beard and his fingertips brushed curly hair that was a bit too long. He quickly removed his hand.

 

“Where's your mask?”

 

Danny blinked.

 

“My what?”

 

“Do you think we just wear these for show?” said Peter, gesturing at the Spidey mask on his face, “No man, we wear them so no one can identify us and track us down and kill our families in their sleep.”

 

Danny winced.

 

“Sorry, I've, uh, I've never really done this like, well, like _this_ before.”

 

What could that mean?

 

Peter placed a palm on his face dramatically with an overblown sigh, stepping away, then paused midway through his action and removed it. He turned back and made a wild pointy gesture at the two men.

 

“Wait, no, I've got this. Wait here,” he took a few steps towards the edge of the roof, “I'll be right back, I promise.”

 

Before either of them could protest, Spider-Man had thrown himself off the edge of the roof. Matt could hear a faint “thwip thwip” from the street below.

 

Danny moved his arms awkwardly for a moment, like he wasn't quite sure where to place them. He settled on crossing them, but seemed entirely uncomfortable doing so. He looked at Matt, then quickly looked at his feet. Matt remained motionless. He was anxious to get on with the plan, and every moment wasted was another that something could go dreadfully wrong.

 

And then Peter was back, brandishing a weird flowy material that whipped in the breeze. Matt couldn't really make out what it was; he was much better at sensing living things and something that immaterial was hard for him to keep track of. It smelled cheap however.

 

Peter went up to Danny and wrapped the fabric carefully around his head, meanwhile Danny stood there uncomfortably, attempting to preserve his masculinity.

 

“There,” said Peter stepping back, “Now you look like a real vigilante.”

 

“I look like an idiot with a scarf.”

 

“Nah, you look fantastic, right Matt?” Peter turned expectantly to Matt, eye-pieces whirring. The hum of the technology threaded through his suit was something that had annoyed Matt at first, but now it was just a familiar sound he knew as Spider-Man. It was fainter than most electronic noises, and he was pretty Tony Stark had built it so that Peter couldn't hear it. Matt still could, but he didn't mention it. Peter loved that suit.

 

Matt stood silently until the kid’s brain caught up with his mouth.

 

“Right, blind. I promise it's great though.”

 

Matt huffed.

 

“It's yellow,” Danny muttered, shifting the makeshift mask into a more comfortable position across his forehead. By how it moved Matt could tell it covered the upper half of his face, just as the Daredevil cowl did.

 

“It matches your shoes,” Peter refuted with a shrug, “The only other one was purple, but I can go back and get it if you'd prefer.”

 

“Did you steal this?”

 

Peter ignored Danny’s question, though Matt knew he had left money at whichever store he had found the scarf. The kid had a guilt complex that stretched to the moon and back.

 

“Okay so one last problem: what do we call you?”

 

“Danny?”

 

“Nononono,” said Peter waving his hands, “like your superhero name, one that doesn't point to you- Do you have one?”

 

Matt shifted his shoulders; superhero was not the right word. Maybe Spider-Man, who was basically an Avenger and inspired people through his heroics, could be considered one, but Daredevil? Striking from the shadows and violent takedown weren't exactly superhero characteristics, and he was doubtful about Mr. Danny Rand being much more.

 

Danny thought for a moment, “Like…The Iron Fist?”

 

“Not bad blondie, little cheesy but I can work with it- you ready Double D?”

 

“I've been ready for the past hour,” Matt grunted. Cosmetics were unimportant to the work they were about to do, doubly so for a blind man, and it was high time they moved forward with the plan.

 

“Right, sorry.”

 

“Let’s go.”

 

Peter gave a thumbs up and Danny pulled his hood up. He already had a mask, so Matt couldn't really understand what the point was. Maybe it was as atrociously yellow as he claimed.

 

They took off across the rooftop, launched onto the next, crossing it in a matter of seconds. Matt pulled out his billy clubs and clicked them into the wire mode. He could feel Spider-Man grab Danny around the middle and heard his heart lurch as the teenager launched them both into the air with far too much ease for someone carrying a man twice his size.

 

Matt threw a club and listened to it wrap around its mark. Then he followed suit, throwing himself across the street towards the window of the third floor as Spider-Man and Danny crashed through another a room over. So billy clubs may not be web slinging, but the rush of air on his face and the moment where nothing but basic motion falls away, that was pure exhilaration. Nothing could beat that freedom.

 

Daredevil crashed through the glass with a grin on his face. He mostly just hoped it was a menacing one.

 

\----

 

Peter hit the window with his left shoulder, holding Danny close to his other side with his right arm, effectively shielding him from the glass. The guy seemed a little panicked by the fact that Peter was carrying him and it wasn't the other way around, but Peter was used to it. He liked breaking people's expectations of him, that's one of the great parts of being Spider-Man. Speaking of-

 

He and Danny both hit the ground at a roll, but Peter was on his feet a second faster. They had crashed through the window at almost the exact same moment as Daredevil, so it sounded like just one window broken, not two.

 

The room was large and packed with various pieces of technology, some that Peter recognized, some that he didn't. Most of it was only half assembled and all of it very dangerous.

 

As for the living occupants of the room, there were quite a few science-type workers and a three muscles. Two of them were female, so score one for feminism. Anyone can beat up people for a corrupt corporation, no matter their gender; welcome to the twenty first century.

 

All of this shot through his head in less than a second. That one was of the perks of his superpowers, being able to gather all the information available in a single glance. Came in handy for split second decisions and throwing yourself through the air, as he had made a habit of doing.

 

Spider-Man raised a hand and waved it in a friendly way. Best to make a good first impression when meeting new people, Aunt May had taught him that.

 

“Hey guys! What's up?”

 

Overpaid bodyguards? Turns out, not so friendly; all three of them reached for their guns as the scientists made to scramble for the door. Rude.

 

Spidey shot webs at two of the muscles, effectively sticking their hands to their holsters, then shot another at each of the doors. Beside him, Danny launched forward at the last bodyguard.

 

Okay so Peter had to admit that the yellow scarf was a little much, especially next to Danny’s green hoodie (which he had pulled up, probably in an attempt to hide the monstrosity that was his makeshift mask), but it was the best he could find, okay? Better than purple, at any rate. And it's not like Danny had come prepared.

 

Spider-Man jumped onto the ceiling. Ah, much better. Ever since the spider-bit, being upside down was a lot more comfortable than being right side up. The blood in his head and the gravity below him just felt a lot more right, and the whole effect was incredibly calming. He had found that he could focus better upside down too, so he now did a good deal of homework on the ceiling.

 

Ugh, he had a Spanish test in a couple hours that he was not at all prepared for. Not looking forward to that.

 

Anyways, superheroing first, high school later.

 

Spidey launched himself at the two bodyguards now desperately trying to pull out of his webbing. Each of his feet met a face and then both were on the floor.

 

“Whoops, didn't see you there.”

 

He found himself next to a group of about six scientists who were trying to pull the webbing off the door. They looked at him in panic and tried to book it in the opposite direction. Spider-Man punched one in the face.

 

“I really hope they’re paying you guys overtime.”

 

He launched himself into a fantastic spin that brought his knee into the side of someone’s head and ended with him knocking some sucker in the jaw. Not with his full strength, obviously, he wasn’t here to kill anyone.

 

Oh, great, there's some guilt, thanks brain. _Really_ needed that.

 

He dared a glance at Danny who had thoroughly taken down the bodyguard and was now moving on from her to a couple scientists brandishing a scary looking gun. Peter could also hear  Daredevil kicking butt in the next room over. Sweet.

 

“You fucking bastard!” yelled a scientist from his side. Peter spun around and webbed him to the wall.

 

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

 

He refocused and took down another scientist in a few swift motions and a few more witty insults then were probably necessary. Okay, definitely more than necessary.

 

“Do you always talk so much?” grunted Danny, shoving an open palm into a Roxxon employee’s solar plexus.

 

Spider-Man opened his mouth to retort, but his spidey-sense shrieked and he jumped out of the way of a big electricy polearm thing. The kind of thing you really don't want touching you.

 

“Hey! I'm trying to have a conversation here!” He dodged another swipe of the big shocky stick. The guy wielding it probably built it, but clearly was not adept at wielding it. Spidey webbed his face and pulled it from his hands.

 

“I'll just be taking that, please and thank you.” Then he swung it around and hit the guy in the side with the non lightning end.

 

“ _Spider-Man, report,”_ muttered Daredevil from the other room. He was probably punching someone in the face or taking on twelve guys by himself again, something crazy and badass like that. He was so cool.

 

“Um, everything is great. Bad Guys with scary weapons: check,” he swung the blunt end of the pole into a another scientist, “but we got it handled. How's it going on your end?”

 

“ _Similarly, it should all be wrapped up soon.”_

 

“You know, if we had comms or something,” offered Danny, who had someone in a headlock, “I could hear both sides of this conversation.”

 

“ _Spider-Man,”_ grunted Daredevil.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“ _Tell him to shut up_.”

 

Peter grinned and dropped the polearm. He shot a web at a guy about to hit Danny from behind.

 

“Daredevil says shut up.”

 

Danny huffed and dropped the now unconscious Roxxon employee.

 

His spider sense tingled and he had a sudden urge to lean to the right. As he did, a bullet whizzed past him out the open window. The gun must've had a silencer on it, because he hadn't heard a gunshot.

 

He whipped his head around to find one of the bodyguards now standing, pointing her gun at him.

 

“Hey, watch where you point that thing! Someone could get hurt!”

 

Spider-Man pulled the gun out her hands with a web, then shot another that pinned her to the wall. Behind him, Danny socked one last guy in the face. Then everyone was down, and Danny and Spider-Man stood in a room full of unconscious Roxxon employees. There was a bit more of a scuffle from the next room over, and then quiet there as well. Everything appeared to be going swimmingly.

 

Peter pulled webbing off of the door that connected to the room Daredevil was in. He glanced at Danny, who stood tense and ready, eyeing the unconscious and webbed up people around them.

 

By ear, he couldn't hear anything else on this floor, other than Daredevil moving through the room next to them. There were people above and below them, and someone was blasting heavy metal music a few floors up, but their entry seemed to be mostly unnoticed. Sweet.

 

Spider-Man glanced around at the tech. It was highly advanced and made with high quality materials. The kind of material and design that took money. Like, a lot of money. And if someone was pouring that much cash into a project, they probably had a reason.

 

He glanced around at the various computers in the room and selected a particularly unassuming laptop next a Batman mug. He sat and pulled it open as Daredevil entered the room, hardly a scratch on him.

 

This was how superheroing should be: in, done, out, no one hurt but the bad guys, and especially no one dead. Maybe bringing Danny along had raised their odds, or maybe they had just been more prepared this time around. Either way, it felt good to be doing things correctly.

 

And yet, something seemed off.

 

But his spidey-sense was silent, so Peter focused on the task at hand: evil corporation laptop.

 

Boring, cheap quality, even worse than Peter’s before he had gotten a Stark upgrade. It had a dent on the left side, a worn down touchpad, a missing letter E, 63% battery, 95% brightness and was password protected.

 

“Fudgesicles,” he muttered. Yep, no cuss words here; Spider-Man had a reputation to uphold, kids who looked up to him and all that.

 

“What is it?” questioned Daredevil. He had his back to Peter, and was carefully listening on high alert to assure their safety.

 

“Password.”

 

“Let's just go, we have what we came for, we can crack it later,” offered Danny, he was tense like Daredevil, but not nearly as calm. Even though he stood still he was practically vibrating with anticipation. Maybe bringing him hadn't been a good idea.

 

“No no wait,” said Spider-Man, shuffling through the papers and various items in this workspace. Passwords, even work ones, are usually personal, and memorable; there had to be a clue here somewhere. If they left now getting into the computer would be a lot more annoying.

 

In his search the laptop slipped away and fell to his side.

 

He barely managed to catch it through a combination of quick reflexes and sticky fingers, but as he pulled it back up onto the table he caught sight of a small bit of white on the laptop's underside. He flipped it over.

 

Ah, there it was. A label maker slip with a 20 character password written out clearly on it. That was easy. Thank goodness for careless employees.

 

He punched it in and watched with satisfaction as the loading screen dissolved into the desktop.

 

“You're in?” questioned Matt from over his shoulder. Blind men: not really adept at computer use. Matt had a particular hatred for anything outside of his own, blind-specialized tech.

 

“Mm,” Peter murmured absently. There were a lot of files here, each categorized and subcategorized in a way that probably was understandable only to the laptop’s owner, Margaret Thatcher apparently. What a boring name, maybe she was one of the random workers they had taken out here. Probably, considering the half drunken coffee in the Batman mug and the fact her laptop was still here.

 

He clicked the file labeled “Project Nemesis”. Okay, well, Roxxon was not exactly known for it’s subtlety, and “Project Nemesis” looked a lot more interesting than the folder labeled “Penguin Research.”

 

Inside was an abundance of weapons blueprints and calculations. There were energy sources, materials and job assignments. All of this Peter clicked through without paying much attention, but once he had opened a document called “Exchange”, he paused.

 

Then he sucked in a sharp intake of breath.

 

“What's wrong?” asked Matt, ever mindful, turning to face him.

 

Peter shook his head. Trying to shake the thoughts out of his head rather than respond to Matt. Danny leaned in and glanced at the screen.

 

“Oscorp?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow look at that cliff-hanger.  
> Anyhoot, I'm going to try and have Luke Cage show up for real in the next couple chapters, but only if he fits, so no promises.  
> Also, I'm not super familiar with the comic sides of these characters, and the details are going to fall mostly into my perception of various bits of canon, so don't be shocked if something lands in a different way than expected. However, if I absolute mutilate some information or you have a suggestion, feel free to let me know.  
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Inadvertant Acrimony and It's Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rain is coming down and everybody needs to be a little more patient and understanding.

When they finally left the Roxxon building the sky was raining down like a burst water balloon.

It wasn't the warm rains that come and go every few hours in Spring, and it wasn't the light rain that precedes snow in Winter. No, this was the heavy rain of mid-Autumn. The kind that poured from the sky endlessly drenching everything and filling the streets. The rain that thundered on every surface it hit.

Every car the whipped past was accompanied by a large spray of dirty rainwater, every pedestrian was either holding an umbrella or sprinting, and all three vigilantes were soaked and cold.

What's odd is that Danny hadn't thought it would rain today.

It had been light out earlier, and sure, the sky was covered in so many clouds that it was just a sheet of bright grey, but it had been almost warm. That's why he had indulged himself with the strawberry icecream.

Maybe he hadn't adjusted to New York weather patterns yet. He was still stuck in K’un-Lun in plenty of other ways, it would make sense if his sense of weather was still there too.

Of the three of them, Daredevil was probably the best dressed for the rain. His leathery suit seemed water-resistant and it all just seemed to roll off of him. Danny doubted that his hair was even wet.

Spider-Man and Danny, by contrast, got completely soaked. Danny had removed his hoodie to keep the laptop dry, and whatever Spidey’s suit was made of seemed pretty unhelpful as well. Peter kept shivering.

Matt offered to let them stop at his apartment until the rain cleared. Both accepted gratefully. His apartment was hardly a half hour away.

Peter was silent during the journey back, which was odd, considering his non-stop talkativeness during the actual fight. Maybe he was just cold, Danny rationalized. It was hard to tell under the mask. His lense things had covered most of the white of his eyepieces though, which made him look oddly focused.

The laptop was safely under Peter’s arm, wrapped up in Danny’s sweatshirt. If he was going to keep spending time with these guys, Danny would probably need to invest in more hoodies just to keep up with how quickly he kept losing them to a certain spider-themed teenager in the technologically advanced equivalent of spandex.

He sighed.

They arrived at Matt's building and climbed in through his window. Quietly, so the neighbors wouldn't figure out that the blind guy next door was an enhanced ninja superhero.

There was a bright billboard right outside the window that Danny found incredibly distracting, and it illuminated the mostly empty apartment in eerie neon. The place was practically vacant, with only the barest necessities in furniture and appliances, but everything that was present was perfectly placed and immaculate.

When he flicked the light switch nothing happened. Huh, guess blind men don't need think about that sort of thing. He wondered if Matt even knew that his light was out. Peter didn't seem to mind though, so Danny didn't make a fuss.

Matt handed them both some of the softest towels Danny had ever touched and piled some clothes onto his coffee table. He muttered something about an “electric headache” and the “smell of metal” and left to shower. Sensitive guy, under all that prickly exterior.

Danny changed in Matt’s bedroom. Just like the rest of the apartment, it was mostly bare, but the bed looked incredibly comfortable.

The clothing he had borrowed was very soft as well. The kind that just rolls over your skin without the barest irritation. Mhm, another thing Danny should invest in.

He was unsure what to do with his wet clothes, so after running the towel over his damp hair he wrapped it around them and just bundled everything into his hands. Everything about Matt’s apartment screamed “don't disturb me”, and Danny was afraid of just dripping in the wrong place.

He returned to the living room to find Peter staring at the laptop, now open on the coffee table next to Matt’s untouched clothing. He had removed only his mask and the towel was draped over his shoulders, the billboard light making him appear paled and almost transparent.

His hair was plastered to his forehead and water dripped down the side of his face. The carpet was damp where he sat cross-legged, but he didn't seem to notice, all attention on the laptop’s glowing screen.

It was only now, in the artificial lighting and the damp of the rain, that Danny really remembered how young Peter was.

It was easy to forget when the mask was on; Spider-Man held himself with such confidence and determination that it was hard to imagine anyone other than an adult. Maybe a short and over-zealous adult, but still not quite a teenager.

It was hard to think if this kid, with freckles and deep dark circles under each eye, as the vigilante who flung himself through the streets and into bad guys with only witty quips and super strength.

This didn't seem right.

Danny sat tentatively on the couch and dropped his wet bundle onto the floor. He was tired, which probably made sense considering it was four in the morning and he had spent the last few hours jumping rooftops and punching people.

He hadn't had to use the iron fist though, which was a plus. It was a privilege but also a pain, and he preferred to reserve his energy for when it was actually necessary. Although, it was pretty freaking cool to have an invincible glowing hand.

And… really weird, when he actually thought about it.

Peter scrolled through a document with one hand while unconsciously pulling at carpet strands with the other. He looked exhausted, but in the stubborn way, where his body was tired but his mind absolutely refused to quit. Danny could understand that.

After Danny had sunken into the couch, Peter, without stopping reading, said “I contacted Tony Stark.”

Right. They knew each other. Everyone knew each other, except Danny. He was distinctly out of the hero-loop.

“Why?”

Peter still didn't turn.

“I sent him the stuff on this laptop. They have some dangerous stuff there and are planning to use it; our little intrusion wouldn't have stopped that. The Avengers can.”

“Oh.” Danny hadn't really thought that far ahead. Hadn't really thought ahead at all, he was still just focusing on keeping up.

“They aren't our problem anymore, is what I’m saying.”

Danny settled back into Matt’s couch, nodding. He could hear the shower running. Maybe he would shower next, he probably needed it.

The rain was still thundering down outside, it would probably be awhile before it stopped.

He his eyes wandered the drab apartment for a moment, before landing on Peter. Still sopping wet (still really young), still in his suit, still pulling at the carpet and still looking at the “Exchange” document.

Danny leaned forward.

“If they aren't our problem anymore,” he said slowly, “why do you still have that laptop?”

Peter stopped scrolling.

“Um,” The tension was rising in Peter's back. “No reason, just…” he looked over his shoulder but didn't quite meet Danny’s eyes, “curious.”

A lie, if Danny had ever seen one.

“And why do you care about Oscorp?”

“I- I don’t-”

“You’re still reading that same document- do you have history with them?”

Peter closed the computer defensively, then paused for a second before speaking in a low tone, “That's my business, not yours”.

It was then that Peter finally met Danny’s eyes. His hard look was one of stubborn determination, the kind that preceded some very stupid and dangerous. A look that Danny had worn on his own face on more than one occasion. He straightened suddenly.

“You're planning something!” he exclaimed.

“Not your business,” he repeated. That was so not reassuring.

“I can help you!”

“No, you can't.” Peter maintained that weighted low tone that implied so much more than he was saying. What had this kid seen? Spider-Man had been around since before Danny got back to New York and he had never thought to catch up on everything that had happened to the vigilante before his arrival. He should really look into that.

“Peter-” Danny started, but Peter interrupted.

“No, okay? I've been doing this hero thing way longer than you have; if anyone needs help it's you. I can handle myself, so stay out of it Danny.”

Peter’s hand which had previously been scrolling on the laptop now sat atop the table in a tight fist, like he was trying very hard to control himself.

Danny, for his part, had adrenaline in his veins and was having a hard time staying still. He felt like jumping up off the couch and going full confrontational, but that would be stupid. He settled on trying some calming breaths.

“Why are you so set on doing this by yourself?”

“I- I’ve just gotta do this alone.”

“That doesn't make any sense!” exclaimed Danny, throwing his hands up in the air.

“It doesn't have to! I don't answer to you!”

“You're still just a kid!”

“I AM NOT A KID!”

Suddenly Matt’s coffee table splintered around Peter's fist. The was a loud snap and the whole table cracked along the middle and collapsed to the floor. Danny recoiled.

So super strength was still a thing.

Peter looked at his hand in shock for a moment, but then, remembering he was still mad at Danny, he stood with a huff. In an instant his mask was on, the laptop was in his hands and he was headed towards the window.

Danny was deeply regretting his choice of words.

“Wait, Peter I’m sorry- don't-”

He paused in his exit and turned to face Danny, eye-pieces focusing in such a way that Danny could feel Peter’s tired eyes meet his and could almost see his betrayed expression.

“I thought you were cool, y’know. A dork, but cool. But you're just like everybody else. Tony, Matt. No one _understands_.”

Peter turned back to window. Danny, stunned, couldn't move.

“Good luck with the hero thing, _Iron Fist_.”

Then Spider-Man disappeared into the rain.

For a moment Danny didn't move. He had just pissed off a dangerously young vigilante who was undoubtedly going to do something very stupid. Someone he was hoping to befriend. Dammit Rand, how are you going to fix it this time?

He glanced at the broken table. The kid had really done a number on it. Splintered wood stuck up down the middle and the whole thing looked like an upside-down “W”. Not really the kind of damage that could be fixed with glue and duct tape.

Danny made his decision. He pulled himself off the couch and rushed to the window. He had about half his body out when he heard a voice behind him.

“What the hell did you do?”

Matt stood in the doorway, hair dripping and wearing only a towel. Danny couldn't remember hearing the shower turn off.

Matt’s chest and arms were littered with a frankly alarming number of scars and his eyebrows were so closely knitted together that he looked like someone who needed to sneeze but couldn't. His eyes were glaring at the wall, but Danny could still feel them burning into him as if they were actually finding their target.

It would have been almost comical if Matt wasn't scary pissed. Nice going Danny.

“Peter, he-” Danny pointed weakly at the window, lost for the right words.

“You idiot...”

“I-”

Matt raised his hand and Danny closed his mouth. Matt was the kind of guy you always listened to without thinking, and when he was angry it felt downright sinful to resist.

“No, just leave, get out. We're done.”

Danny nodded slowly. This was his fault.

He finished passing through the window and considered pulling it shut behind him, but by that time he had waited too long for it to not be awkward. Not that it wasn't already, but no need to make it worse. He left it open.

As the rain started to soak into his new set of clothes he suddenly realized that he had forgotten his shoes, not to mention his wet clothes. There was no way he was going back for those.

Not that he was uncomfortable barefoot, quite the opposite, but he had quite liked that pair. They were a nice color.

He glanced back through the window to see a mostly clothless Daredevil angrily telling his phone to “Call Peter”. Danny swallowed guiltily. The made two potential friendships he had just screwed up with his stupid big mouth.

The adrenaline was still running its course and, though it was late, his tired had mostly melted away. It had been replaced by guilt and urgency, but at least now he was awake.

As his hair lost any hope of remaining dry he made his resolve and he threw himself off of Daredevil’s fire escape with only one thought in his mind:

“Find Peter.”

\---

Matt had been having a very nice shower.

Most kinds of constant beating noises annoyed his senses to no end and gave him migraines, but water was one of the few things that had the opposite effect. The irregular rhythmic fall of shower water combined with the heavy rain outside focused and calmed Matt, centering him and giving him space to just tune everything else out.

The lingering scent of metal and the headache that had built up from all of the technology buzzing in the Roxxon building melted away and soon he was so far into his meditative state that he even forgot about Peter and Danny in the other room.

So you can imagine his annoyance when he was pulled out of this to a yell and a loud crash.

A now he was standing here, alone, in just a towel, calling Peter for the eighth time and going straight to voicemail for the eighth time. Fan-freakin-tastic.

“Peter, it's Matt. I know you're upset but I need you to think calmly right now. Go home, get some rest, call me when you feel up to it, just please don't do anything reckless.”

He wasn't mad at Danny, not really.

He had been, at first, when he was still in zen-shower-do-not-disturb mode, but only because everything else had gone so well until right when he had accepted Danny as a friend. It wasn't Danny’s fault, he didn't know Peter well enough to not set him off when he was in a mood.

Matt, however, _did_ know Peter, and had been too wrapped up in himself to recognize the signs.

He had attributed Peter’s quiet to his exhaustion, his focus to his fighting and his faster breathing to his adrenaline.

This was his fault. He should have noticed, should have asked.

And he was afraid that maybe he had driven Danny away by snapping at him. The guy had left without even his shoes.

Matt owed him an apology. More than that, he owed him Peter’s life. The guy had great potential; Matt had been paying attention during their fight. All the right instincts and intention, just maybe needed think a little before speaking. He rode Matt’s nerves and seemed constantly surprised, but he was definitely going somewhere.

Matt sighed and clicked his phone off.

Ideally Peter had just gone home, but Matt suspected otherwise. It was past four in the morning, and Peter had school today, but that probably wouldn't stop him. Peter was stubborn like that.

Matt briefly considered suiting up and going out to look for him, but then he thought better of it. If Peter wanted to be found he would be. If he wanted to talk he would pick up his phone. It was probably best to just leave him be and wait.

If Peter hadn't contacted him by tomorrow night he would do something about it, until then he would just be patient.

And he hadn't forgotten what Peter had said before leaving. Yes, it was best to give him space right now.

Matt hadn't known Peter all the long, only a few months really, but he still felt incredibly responsible for the kid. They had a close friendship at this point; Peter crashed at Matt’s sometimes when he was tired and they helped each other out. Matt was trying to help him expand his senses and develop his fighting skills, an investment that had greatly paid off.

Peter had all the abilities and instincts of a hero, he just needed direction. Matt tried to give him that. But moreso, he needed a friend, one that he could talk to about both sides of his crazy life, one that would understand him and not criticize.

Matt was still working on that part.

Peter was not a child, and not an adult. Had a genius’s mind and a hero’s heart. He was recklessly clever, selfless, kind, witty, childish with an adult sense of duty.

Also completely in over his head.

But Matt had to support him, because if he didn't Peter was going to get himself hurt, and that kid had seen enough trauma already.

And he owed Peter his life. There was also that.

  
The first time he had heard of Spider-Man was from Foggy, who had rushed into the office with a copy of the Bugle and a YouTube video of a giant lizard and the vigilante himself, that Foggy narrated for him. Matt wasn't that interested at the time, just another wanna-be superhero in an expanding universe of them. Close to his home turf, but then again, so are the Avengers.

But the first time he had met Spider-Man, about a month later, was when Matt actually started to take an interest in him.

He hadn’t been in costume, just another blind pedestrian trying to get home after a late night. Unfortunately, not looking like Daredevil didn’t mean his super-hearing turned off, and well, it didn’t turn off his lack of self-preservation either.

He had heard someone scream, and even in civilian clothes he couldn’t ignore that. It was only a few blocks off his path, and though he didn’t have a plan for when he got there, he couldn’t just walk away. Blind guy saving the day with random ninja skills? Not really a great course of action.

Not that he had a better idea.

But as he had gotten close he had heard some weird “thwip” noises, and could smell a weird chemical solution he had never come across before. There was a woman, a drunk man, and a teenager, by the smells, and as Matt approached he could distinguish the teen helping the woman up, and the drunk man underneath a layer of the weird chemical stuff, about five feet up the wall. Sounded an awful lot like that web stuff Foggy had described.

As he rounded the corner the kid told the woman to call the police. His voice was muffled a little, like it was under fabric. Then he rushed out and bumped right into Matt.

Like a good blind man and definitely not a vigilante with killer reflexes, Matt allowed himself to fall to the ground.

“Whoops, sorry man. You alright?”

Matt gave a bewildered nod and the kid helped him to his feet. Sweat, cheap shampoo and deodorant were the predominating smells, as well as the weird chemical stuff. The hands helping Matt up were covered in thin fingerless gloves, and there was the hum of tech at his wrists and eyes. His heartbeat was also faster than the normal teenager. Odd.

“Gotta go. Toodaloo!”

Then the kid had launched into the air and swung away.

Matt turned to the flustered lady in the alley, who was pulling out her phone.

“Who was that?”

“You don’t- oh,” Ah, the confusion of people who didn’t know how to interact with blind men. It should be easy, talk to them like anyone else, but hardly anyone seemed to figure that one out. “Uh, that was Spider-Man… he saved me.”

“Spider-Man…” Matt repeated thoughtfully.

A teenage vigilante- that did not sit well with him.

It hadn't sat well with Foggy when Matt informed him the next day either.

“A kid? Are you sure?”

“Yes I smelled him myself, I’m sure.”

Foggy squinted at him.

“You know it's still creepy when you say that.”

Matt waved a hand dismissively.

“It's messed up that he's young though… Does this mean I have to take the poster of him out of our office? I really like that poster.”

“That's not the point Foggy; there's a kid out there who's going to get himself killed.”

“Yeah, he sounds almost as idiotic as you.”

Matt paused, honing in on Foggy, trying to discern the puport in his words. Measuring heartbeats and breathing patterns don't really help with actual content though, unfortunately.

“What do you mean?”

Foggy leaned back in his chair like he always did when something was obvious to him but incomprehensible to Matt.

“A guy with no sense of self-preservation and a good deal of self-righteousness taking justice into his own hands with only a silly suit, some superpowers and some half-baked. He gets beat up at night, probably pushes away his friends and nearly dies every other week. Only difference is people like him more- aside from the Bugle, but they hate everyone.”

“He’s not like me Foggy, he's young, inexperienced, and he’s gonna get hurt,” stressed Matt.

Okay so maybe Foggy had a point, but there was no way in hell Matt would admit that.

“Like you haven't gotten hurt.”

“That's beside the point.”

“No, it isn't, but I'm not having that argument right now. If you're really worried about this kid, go out and find him, help him. If I've learned anything by watching you be Daredevil it's that vigilantes need more friends.”

And that's exactly what Matt did next.

He spent the next several nights scouring Queens and tracking Spider-kid. Even with his skill set and enhanced senses, Matt struggled to keep on top of him. It was like the kid always knew that he was there and managed to slip away, despite Matt being sure that he couldn't know he was watching.

For the most part, Matt was almost impressed. The kid’s skillful evasion and famously non-lethal takedown were effective, but he lacked any sort of refinement. He never stopped babbling and his actual fighting would be crap without his strength and abilities.

Matt, being enhanced himself, also knew that the guy barely slept each night (no surprise, between school, teenagedom and vigilantism it's surprising he slept at all). His stomach seemed constantly empty too, despite the fact that Matt had seen him eating gifts of hot dogs and churros on several occasions.

No one ever gave Daredevil food.

Not that Matt was jealous.

But before Daredevil ever got a chance to introduce himself that guy got swooped up by the Avengers and ended up in Germany for that ridiculous airport battle. Did they know that he was a kid? Would it be worse if they did?

Matt had stopped following him after that. He couldn't (or wouldn't) really rationalize why. Maybe he thought that the Avengers would take care of him (unlikely). Maybe he thought Spidey wasn't his problem (yeah right).

Point is, Spider-Man fell into the back of his mind and out of his focus.

So, when he was handling the latest overgrown drug cartel in Manhattan's Lower East Side later that month, Spider-Man was the last person he expected to show up.

It had been fairly straight forward: take out some watch on the docks before jumping the ones in the warehouse. He had heard some interesting things, especially pertaining to a certain politician he may now have to pay a visit to and all in all his silent but deadly approach was proving successful. That is, until an upside-down teenager suddenly appeared in his face.

“What’s up?”

He hadn't caught Matt by surprise, not at all. He had just been… distracted by the fighting. No one can sneak up on the Devil.

The kid was hanging from his webbing, absolutely relaxed and comfortable, despite being in an upside-down crouch. The kid was almost exactly as Matt remembered him, except now he had a new suit, buzzing with tech and smelling faintly of coffee and oil. So Stark was bribing his recruits now.

“You need to leave.”

Matt used his gruff Daredevil voice. If Tony Stark knew this kid well enough to make him a suit, he very likely knew how old he was. That was plenty reason for Matt to be angry.

“Nah, I think I’ll stick around. You're close to my turf, and I have some questions for the little Devil who's been following me around.”

“Queens is all the way across the water,” huffed Matt, “and you really need to go.”

“Thanks, but strong pass; I've been on these guys for a while and I'm not leaving now, Devil or not.”

Matt was about to retort when gunfire sounded just outside the east wall of building. Lots of shouting and movement and none of it friendly. A rival gang?

Matt stilled and the kid unwound himself, rotating until he was hanging upright with only one hand on the webbing. Both listened carefully.

From what Matt could hear it seemed that a group of guns-for-hire were intercepting a cargo drop at this site, and shooting down everyone in their path on the way. He hadn't heard who they were working for though.

Spider-Man released the webbing and dropped the remaining few feet to the floor.

Matt was not about to deal with this development _and_ a temperamental teenager with a hero complex.

“Get out, now.”

The kid looked at Matt, eye-pieces whirring.

“How about no?”

Then he booked it towards the door.

Fortunately, Matt had had enough foresight to expect this, and he snagged the kid by the arm.

“I’m really going to regret this,” he muttered, before knocking the kid unconscious.

Matt hid the kid behind a convenient pile of unassuming crates. He felt bad, he also felt like he had done the right thing, so hopefully it broke even.

He muttered “sorry” before leaving him though, not that Spidey could hear it. Maybe it was more for himself than the kid.

Before he could open the door, however, it was flung open from the other side. Several mercs rushed in, all guns pointed at the vigilante. Damn.

He took a defensive position, complete with a menacing Daredevil scowl. Three on his left, four on his right. Two had big knives, the rest guns. All of them smelled of gunpowder, blood and poor life choices. Not a pleasant crowd.

Matt listened intently as they surrounded him, waiting for the right moment. Outside he could hear more yelling and shooting that was steadily encroaching on the warehouse; he needed to finish this and get Spider-Man out of here quickly.

As a merc on the left readjusted his grip and another moved to scratch his arm, Matt lunged. He elbowed man's gun out of his hand while going in for a solid right hook with his other hand, then spun, dodging a bullet and a knife to hit another bad guy in his solar plexus.

A few of them started shooting wildly, managing to lodge bullets in their companions but Daredevil was always outside their aim. One managed to graze his thigh with a knife and another, having lost his gun, got a mean hit on Matt’s jaw, but for the most part the fight was going on his favor.

That is, until the door burst open and a group from the original cartel ran in.

Everything went to shit basically.

There were a lot of bullets and a lot of blood going in every direction at once. Shouting, shooting, running and the smell of death permeated every surface and bounced off of the walls. For Matt, with his delicately precise senses, the experience was entirely overwhelming. Too much noise, too many smells and he couldn't not taste the blood in the air. As his brain drowned under the flood of input his consciousness shut off and it was all he could do to stay standing.

Someone hit him on the head, hard, and he stumbled to the floor, ears ringing. Pain erupted in his leg and he couldn't focus, could think. He could only feel, and everything he felt was far too much.

For a moment he considered just accepting the pounding in his head and lying on the floor with his hands over his ears until it stopped.

He'd later look back on that moment as proof he wasn't hero material.

But he didn't have to make that decision, because a second later there were hands on his middle and he was carefully pulled to his feet. An arm wrapped around his back and then he was in the air.

His stomach dropped out from under him and his head swam as he was pulled though the air. The gunshots below died out admits a series of “thwips” as Matt and his apparent savior swung up and then out the warehouse window. He could hear sirens below them and the rush of vehicles scurrying past, accompanied by a good deal of shouting and radio buzz.

They landed in a back alley behind a building where the resident of the third room on the second floor was far too fond of perfume and scented candles. Sometimes having super-senses is kind of awful.

As Matt’s feet grazed the ground his leg erupted in pain and he would've fallen if not for the teenager next to him, who kept a steady arm around his middle.

“You're hurt.”

Matt scoffed, “And you're awake.” He definitely did it have the energy for sass, and yet he went for it anyways. Something about his companion just screamed sarcasm, and he was too out of it to resist.

“Y'know you could say thank you. Hold still, I can stop the bleeding.”

The boy aimed his free hand at Matt’s calf and a layer of his sticky webbing suddenly coated the bullet wound. It was cold, and smelled awful, but it would stop the bleeding.

A police car whizzed past, the sirens only serving to worsen Matt’s migraine. Spider-Man pressed them both against the wall. Matt was overwhelmed by the scent of sweat and blood, the buzzing suit, the headache. He took a long deep breath and focused on Spidey’s steady (if not rapid) heartbeat. A few moment later the car had passed and they stepped back out.

“It's not safe here,” grunted the Spider-kid. He nervously shifted his weight and sucked in a shallow breath, “We need to move.”

Matt nodded absently.

“I know a place.”

“Where?”

“A nurse, Hell’s Kitchen.”

They turned to leave, Matt’s arm over the Spidey’s shoulders and the kid’s arm around Matt’s back. Matt's leg throbbed with pain, and was probably the main reason he was not lecturing the kid about his life choices right now. First aid, then lecture. He could do that.

He may not have a lot of leverage at that point though, considering what this kid had just pulled him out of. First things first, Matt.

Before he could shoot a web however, Spidey went completely still, tuned into a force Matt couldn't sense.

“Put your hands up!” yelled a shaky voice behind them.

Matt hadn't heard her approach, he had missed a whole human being. That should never happen, he's such an idiot.

They slowly turned around, Spidey holding his free hand up submissively.

“Step away from the Devil, Spider-Man,” said the cop, pointing her gun at Matt.

Spidey released him and took a few careful steps forward, leaving Matt to balance painfully on his own.

“We aren't going to hurt anyone,” said Spider-Man quietly.

“It's not you I’m worried about Spider-Man, it's him.” She gestured to Matt, steadfastly keeping her aim on him.

Spider-Man continued to inch forward tentatively, keeping himself between the policewoman and Matt. “Daredevil is injured, we’re just going to leave and get help.”

“You can go, Spider-Man. As far as I'm concerned, you're doing our city a service. But he stays”

Spidey glanced back at Matt, and for a brief second Matt genuinely thought he would just leave. The kid had no obligation to protect the guy who had followed him and then knocked him unconscious, and the smartest move for him would probably be just to run and forget this ever happened.

Apparently the kid was an idiot though, because he turned back to the cop and said, “I’m not leaving Daredevil.”

Matt's heart a little bit fell out of his chest for a moment. This kid was too good for his own good.

The cop just grimaced and readjusted her grip.

“I mean it Spidey, just go so I can arrest this man.”

“Look,” said Spider-Man carefully, twisting his arms so they were no longer up and were instead pointed at the cop,, “I’m really sorry about this but-”

 _Bang_.

The cop pulled the trigger just as Spider-Man activated his web shooters. She hadn't thought, just shot from fear. This is why we have vigilantes, because our police do stupid shit like this.

Matt could recognize the bullets trajectory, and he knew that's it’s target should be his chest, but within a moment the cop was webbed to the wall, the gun was clattering to the ground and there was no bullet ripping through him.

Instead, a short underage vigilante was standing right in its path.

There was a moment where Matt’s blood rushed to his ears and he could no longer feel the pain in his calf. All he could hear was the kid’s fluttering heartbeat and shallow breaths as he doubled over, bloody hands holding his middle. Matt stumbled to his side and pressed Spidey’s panicked hands against the wound.

Then he sent a death glare at the policewoman. She was stuck to the wall, and couldn't move her arms, but tears started to well up in her eyes as she realized what she had done.

“I- I’m so-”

“Shut up!” snarled Matt. He gently brought the kid to the ground and stood, utterly forgetting the wound in his leg. He took several heavy steps forward and slammed his hand onto the wall next to the cops head and brought his masked face close to hers. She flinched.

“ _You_ -”

He brought a hand to her throat, breathing heavily. He applied pressure, listening as the blood and air were cut off and she gasped for breath. He could feel her throat moving under his palm and blood trapped in her face. He could taste the tears in the air and he tightened his grip.

“Please-” she rasped, struggling under his hand, the webbing effectively keeping her in place.

“Stop,” commanded a small voice behind him. Matt paused, but didn't release her.

Spider-Man was stumbling to his feet, a hand placed protectively against his newly webbed up wound. His heart was beating frantically and he could barely catch his breath, but his voice was steady.

“Let her go.”

“She shot you, shot a kid,” snarled Matt, tightening his hand against her neck. Both the woman and Spidey recoiled at his words.

“It's not worth it Daredevil, let her go.” He took in a shaky breath, “We don't kill.”

The kid was right.

Matt dropped his hand.

The cop gasped in air as Matt turned back to Spider-Man, deflated. The pain in his leg reasserted itself and all the adrenaline melted from his system. He was tired and injured, and in front of him was an even more injured teenager who he still hadn't lectured about his age.

The policewoman just made a poor choice, it wasn't his job to give her a death sentence for it. It was partially his fault anyways. She had been aiming for him.

Maybe that's why he was so angry.

If the public had a better image of Daredevil (like they had of Spider-Man), cops wouldn't fear him and the kid wouldn't have been shot. If only he wasn't in the shadows, had a better way of taking down bad guys.

Maybe he was just angry that a kid had felt the need to take a bullet for _him_.

He shook his head. This was dumb. Focus on the now. Deep breaths and lollipops.

Spider-Man was still on his feet, barely. Damn that kid was persistent.

Matt made his way to him gingerly. His headache was setting back in, but that was to be expected, and it couldn't match the throbbing pain in his leg.

Man, he had really done it this time.

He helped the kid into a sitting position against the wall next to a particularly pungent dumpster, then, tired of standing on his bad leg, Matt dropped down next to him.

Spider-Man slumped into Matt with some labored breaths. It didn't seem intentional, more like the kid was on the verge of unconsciousness. He was definitely deteriorating, each breath harder than the last, and Matt had already decided running to Claire was too far and too hard without the web slinging. He fumbled for his cellphone instead.

“Thanks,” muttered Spidey, “for not killing her.”

“Thank _you_ kid,” retorted Matt, concentrating on remembering where the right buttons were without being able to see them, “you stopped me.”

“Nah, you stopped yourself,” he said quietly, whole body drooping, “if you had actually wanted to kill her you would have.”

Matt was silent. He had messed up somewhere in the phone navigation because what he had thought was Claire’s contact hadn't done anything, probably opened the calculator or something equally as useless. He hit the home button and tried again.

“Also,” mumbled Spidey, shifting his weight, “ ‘m not a kid.”

Matt’s face split into a quiet lopsided smile as the dial tone played. Then the other line picked up.

“Claire, we have a bit of a situation.”

“ _We_?”

  
According to the genius of J.K. Rowling, there are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other; having a stranger take a bullet for you after pulling you out of a bloodbath is one of those things.

And so their friendship began, with two bullet wounds behind a dumpster and shared need for support and understanding. Also a very tired nurse.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that everyone's upset, it'll clear up soon I promise.
> 
> Also the second part was looking kind of dull, so I added that whole flashback thing. It kind of got out of control, but I hoped you enjoyed early Matt and Peter and that brief Foggy interlude.
> 
> And remember when I said Luke Cage would make an appearance soon? I actually meant that Jessica Jones is pretty impending, so look forward to her in the next couple chapters.  
> Don't worry, I'll work in Luke soon enough.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Masked, They Advance.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is cold, Danny is shoeless. They should probably sort this out.

Peter was very cold and very angry about it.

The rain had still been coming down in sheets when he left Matt’s apartment, and though now it had slowed to a mild drizzle, it had done its job soaking Peter all the way through first.

Now he was cold, tired, wet and angry; before he left he had only been three of those things.

Think things through next time Parker.

He couldn't even decide who he was angry at the most. Danny? Himself? The world?

It was slippery anger, the kind he had to work to hold onto, but that didn't mean it wasn't still going strong.

He had meant to go back home, he truly had. Nothing sounded better than to fall into his warm sheets and just forget all his problems in favor of some sleep, but something had held him back. Some strange repulsion that he couldn't place.

Anyways, here he was, sitting upside-down under the edge of some random roof, trying to study for his Spanish test. Needless to say, he wasn't doing well.

He's chosen this spot because it was quiet, sheltered, and in an alley. The apartment behind him was also unoccupied, so no one would open their window to find Spider-Man doing homework on their fire escape.

According to his sleepless and fuming mind, studying was a productive use of his time, but at this point it had just turned into an excuse to stay out. To stay Spider-Man.

He didn't think he could handle being Peter Parker right now.

He had grabbed his backpack from its hiding place on the underside of a crane head, where he had left it when he had dealt with that fire earlier. Jeez, it felt like that was days ago, not just a couple hours.

The backpack now lay on the fire escape a little below him, the Roxxon laptop inside. Several damp sheets of vocab in Peter’s lap swam in and out of his focus as he tried and failed to get himself to do something productive.

Instead of the irregular conjugations of preterite tense however, his mind was stuck on Oscorp, Danny Rand, and his own failure to keep his cool.

He was scared. Scared that he had just messed up a friendship by storming off, scared that Oscorp was doing something shady, scared of himself and his own stupidity.

Not long ago, he had dealt with the Lizard. Really Curt Connors, just a guy so desperate that his genius couldn't see his own stupidity. It had been a dramatic event at the time, where the bad science had centered in Oscorp, but that was just one guy. A newly rehabilitated guy, whom Peter considered a friend and occasionally dropped in on for first-aid when he didn't want to bother Claire.

One man’s mistake didn't indicate the whole corporation as flawed, right?

And then there was Harry, the on and off friend of Peter’s who was the son of the head of Oscorp. Not that their relationship fluctuated, but their correspondence did. Harry was off in boarding school and between his rich life and Peter’s chaotic one they hardly talked, but Harry was the kind of guy that could drop into Peter’s life at anytime and they would just pick it up like he had never left.

And if Oscorp was doing creepy trades with Roxxon - a company that they had proven corrupt - wouldn't that implicate Norman Osborn, Harry’s father?

Also It can't be a coincidence that Oscorp was the place where this had all started, where he had gotten his powers, right?

Or maybe it was nothing, just a harmless business transaction, and he was overthinking this.

Also he had gone and blown up at Danny.

He was really sick of people telling him he was too young for this life, and that he was going to get himself killed. When Tony wasn't busy ignoring Peter he treated him like a baby, and Matt kept hinting that he should just take a break until he was older. Even Claire had tried to talk him out of it, on more than one occasion, and now Danny thought he wasn't capable enough?

Hadn't he proven himself enough already?

And it's not like he could just stop. Every fire, every burglary, every ridiculous self-proclaimed super villain that he stopped was another that would have gone unchecked if he hadn't been there. There would be so many people dead, so many crimes committed that were on him. It was his duty, his responsibility. No one should deny him that, deny the city that.

There was a crack as the dull #2 pencil in his hand snapped in half. He blinked in surprise, and his grip loosened enough that the pieces clattered down and fell through the holes of the fire escape.

He hadn't broken a pencil since he had first gotten his powers. He was slipping.

With a groan and some dramatic arm movement, he let the papers in his lap fall to join his backpack on the fire escape. Yeah, there was no way he was going to make any progress on that. Maybe Ned would let him borrow his notes during lunch. It's. It that Peter was bad at Spanish, quite the contrary, but if you never learned the content because you'd been busy fight crime, well, you can't really just pull it out of nowhere.

He brought his newly freed hands to face and slid them under the mask to rub his eyes. In the process his mask was pushed up over his forehead, but he didn't really feel like fixing it, so he just left it there.

He kneaded the base of his palms into his scrunched up eyes for a moment; he’d had a growing headache since the Roxxon building. Usually he had enough control over his senses to focus on what was necessary, tune out the white noise (thank you: Matt), but now, emotional and incredibly tired, his senses were picking up on every bit of useless information they could throw at him.

The texture of his suit, the smell of wet cement and garbage, the woman in the building behind him playing Mario Kart, and losing, based on the endless stream of expletives.

Seriously, it was like 5 am, who was awake right now?

Oh, right, he was.

He mouthed a few swear words into his wrists.

What's worse is that he still liked Danny. The guy had saved his life, but outside of that he seemed like a genuinely good person. The kind that strived to do his best, despite making many mistakes. Kind, brave, and funny, in his own way. Peter felt bad for yelling at him, he also felt like he deserved it.

Storming off had been childish though, even Peter could admit that. Maybe if he had stayed he could have had a regular conversation like a reasonable human.

He also broke Matt’s coffee table. Ugh, he was such an idiot. An idiot with super-strength.

His stomach growled but he ignored it and buried his face further into his hands. He just sat there, upside-down, pretending like he wasn't on the verge of crying. Or screaming. Or both.

Everything about this was just incredibly frustrating.

There was a clang and the sound of scraping metal, jarring enough for Peter to bring his hands over his ears in surprise. Then there was more metal sounds and some heavy breathing. Someone had pulled down the fire escape ladder and was climbing up.

Peter carefully pulled his mask over his face. He was so not in the mood to deal with people right now, whether it was just a civilian or some evil ninja trying to jump him. His spidey sense was silent, so it was likely the former, but either way he prepared to leave, ready to grab his bag and swing away, but then he heard something that made him freeze in place.

“Peter?”

He can feel the blood rush to his ears just at the sound of Danny’s voice. Can he still leave? Is it childish to run again? Yes, yes it is.

He settled on crossing his arms and pretending like he hadn't heard anything. Very mature.

“Peter?

Wow, sure is quiet tonight. Nothing said, no one here, just one woman losing Mario Kart and Spider-Man ignoring his Spanish work. Very quiet.

“I know you can hear me, you have enhanced senses,” Danny was one level down now, staring up at Spider-Man as he climbed. He seemed a little out of breath, like he had been sprinting across the city for the last hour trying to find someone. Whoops.

Peter very intently stared at the opposite wall of the alley, studying the cracks and the tiny spiderweb in the corner. Excellent craftsmanship.

Danny pulled himself up the last rung and onto Peter’s level. He stood for a moment, taking in Peter’s upside-down crouch and damp backpack full of homework. His hair quietly dripped onto the metal, making soft “plink” sounds.

From the corner of his eye, Peter noticed that Danny wasn't wearing any shoes. And he was still in the clothes Matt had given him, just a t-shirt and sweats, which were now completely soaked through. He must be freezing. Peter felt a pang of guilt, but not enough to apologize. Okay maybe enough to apologize, if only his mouth would open.

Danny had a deep frown rooted on his face, but instead of apologizing or criticizing or anything that Peter thought he would do, he just took a deep breath and sat down, back to the same wall as Peter, and stared out at the same spiderweb across the alley.

Danny’s legs were crossed in the weird overlapping way that only people who did yoga or meditated knew how to do without hurting themselves. And now that he was sitting Peter’s eyeline fell a little above his hair. He didn't force eye contact, just looked straight ahead. After a moment he picked up a stray piece of notebook paper that had spilled from Peter’s backpack and started fiddling with it, folding and twisting it in his hands.

…

Origami?

Danny had run around searching for him for the last hour only to sit down and do origami?

Peter was perplexed, and really didn't know how to react; all he could do was stare. Fortunately for him, he didn't have to do anything, because Danny chose then to start talking. When he spoke it was measured and quiet, the tone of someone trying very hard to think through what they were saying.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you, and I shouldn't have underestimated you,” he started, staring intently his hands, eyebrows together in concentration. “I wasn’t thinking, just running my mouth.”

Danny paused, but when Peter didn't say anything, he started again.

“I’m not a superhero; I really don't know what I'm doing. I was made to stand and defend, not seek out, but you- you've been doing the super-vigilante thing for a while now. You know what you're doing, and you know your limits- it not my place to tell you what you should or shouldn't do. I'm sure you've been told that enough already.”

Good start, thought Peter. He had never been good at holding grudges, and he could feel this one slipping away at Danny’s every word. God he was tired. Also hungry. That too.

“I also shouldn't have brought your age into it. I didn’t mean- I just… I don't know. It's hard to see someone so young carrying such a burden. I started training to be the Iron Fist when I was eleven, and I know what it's like to be young and have great responsibilities, and I thought that maybe- if I helped- you wouldn't end up screwed up like me.”

Danny sighed and took a deep breath. Peter swallowed.

“But I also think that you do need to accept help, if not from me then from someone else. Getting yourself killed won't help anyone, so don't push people away just to prove yourself. It just makes things worse, for you and for everyone else… I'm, uh, sorry that I yelled earlier.”

It was only now that Danny turned and made eye contact. Peter studied him through his eyepieces, searching for some kind of lie or anything that could keep him angry at Danny, but there was nothing, only honesty.

His anger had all but dissipated at this point, fallen through the fire escape to join his broken pencil. He took a shaky breath.

This meant that it was Peter’s turn to apologize.

He pulled off his mask and started, “Danny-”

“You don't need to say anything,” interrupted Danny with a shake of his head.

“No, I do. I’m sorry too, for what I said, and for storming off and, um, smashing the table.”

Danny shrugged, the corners of his mouth hinting a smile.

“Wasn't my table.”

Peter suddenly remembered that Danny wasn't the only person he had left when he had stormed out. He buried his face in his hands.

“Matt’s gonna kill me...”

“Not until he kills me first,” sighed Danny gloomily, turning back to his origami.

“Why would he kill you?” asked Peter, peeking through his fingers, “Did you smash a table too?”

Danny smiled but his shoulders dropped.

“No, he's mad because I drove you off. He kicked me out right after you left.”

Peter swallowed guiltily. “Sorry. I'll, um, talk to him.”

“No need, I had it coming.”

Peter sighed. “You know, he's prickly and scary, but Matt does like you- he won't stay angry.”

“He does?” Peter was kind of shocked at the sincerity of Danny’s question.

“Yeah, of course. You're pretty cool, and you saved my life- which I haven't thanked you for yet… So, um, thanks.”

“It was nothing.”

Peter was about to protest when he glanced at Danny’s lap.

“Woah… how did you do that?”

In his hands sat a crisp paper spider, eight legs and all. It's elegance was slightly undercut by it being on ruled paper, but the subtle, almost abstract shaping made up for it. It was even vaguely three-dimensional, and stood up on its own legs.

Danny shrugged in the I’m-Proud-But-Also-Humble-So-Won’t-Admit-It sort of way. “When I was younger, I was terrified of spiders. I wouldn't go near them- which was fine when I was a rich kid in New York, but when I was in K’un-Lun-”

“K’un-Lun?”

“Where I trained, at the monastery.”

Peter nodded. He had followed the news about Danny Rand, the whole dead to homeless to billionaire story. He was honestly surprised he hadn't recognized Danny the first time they had met, but then again he hadn't been exactly okay at the time.

“Well, weaknesses weren't exactly something that was allowed there, so my shifu, the other masters, they challenged me at every opportunity to rid myself of my fear. They said the best way to get rid of it was to face it head on, and push aside my doubts. But, well, twelve year olds aren't exactly the best at that kind of thing, and I only got more scared. But one day, my friend, Davos, sat me down and walked me through the folds to make a spider out of paper. He helped me memorize every step, and after that I wasn't scared anymore. Once I controlled the spider, made it my own, I didn't need to be.”

“And this is where you learned to make your hand glow?”

Danny laughed. “Uh, yeah, sure. You can have this, if you want.” He handed the paper spider to Peter, who gingerly took it and turned it over in his hands, examining it.

“Can you teach me to do this?”

“Yeah, sometime. Isn't today a school day?”

Peter groaned.

“Yeah, it starts in like three hours. You don't know Spanish do you?”

“I know many languages,” replied Danny thoughtfully, “Spanish is not one of them.”

Peter sighed, then he dropped from the roof and landed in a low crouch before shoving his work into his backpack, taking care that the spider wouldn't be damaged as he swung home.

“I should probably get going. Thanks, for, um, finding me.”

Danny nodded and straightened, then he pulled a something out of his pocket. A business card.

“If you, uh, need me, my number’s on there. But you don't ha-”

“Thanks,” interrupted Peter, taking the card. He turned to leave, but then paused and looked back at Danny, an idea popping into his head.

“I have a- a thing, that you could help with, if you-”

“Yes!” said Danny eagerly, cutting him off. Then he got a kind of sheepish look on his face, “I mean, uh, yeah, of course.”

“Okay, cool. Meet me outside Midtown High after school’s out.”

Then Peter pulled on his mask, shot a web and swung away, but not before giving Danny a dorky salute mid-air.

It was nice, having a new friend.

Now he really needed to get home and sleep before May realizes he's gone.

\---

High school was an odd concept to Danny.

Of course, he knew it conceptually, he'd seen enough movies to have some sense of what it was like, but he also knew it was an experience that he had utterly missed, one that couldn't be replaced. Unless he wanted to go back as a 26 year old, but that would be a bit much.

He was standing in front of Midtown Science and Tech, a regular looking school with nothing really standout-ish about it. Maybe, if his plane hadn't crashed, Danny would've gone here. It was a STEM school (Danny had googled it to find out what time it got out, which Peter had failed to mention), and Danny had never really been good at the sciences. He had always enjoyed English, and language. And art. Who doesn't like art?

He had been homeschooled, anyhow, and so he probably would've gone through high school via tutors and his mother, but it would've been something. Certainly not Kung Fu monks and dragons.

His life really could've gone a different way.

The bell rung and students started to flow out the doors, totally within their own space, chatting and saying goodbyes. Ignorant, but innocent.

A lone girl with her head buried in a book bumped shoulders with him as she passed. She had curly hair and a odd air about her. She threw him a strange look before continuing on.

Teenagers are weird.

“Danny!”

Speaking of-

Peter pushed through the throng and rushed up to him, wearing a battered backpack and a flustered expression. He had bags under each eye and his skin was a little pale, but Danny supposed less than three hours of sleep would do that to you.

“What are you doing? You're- You’re famous! People recognize you!”

Danny blinked. Peter was right, some of the students were stopping to stare, and one girl was trying to angle her phone to get a photo.

Danny still wasn't used to this fame thing.

Whoops?

Peter tried to push him off to the side, but another kid caught up to them first, boasting a Star Wars t-shirt.

Danny had always liked Star Wars, though not with the same nerdy intensity as some. Claire had mentioned that there were new ones now, but he hadn't gotten around to watching them yet. He's been busy.

“Peter! You forgot your English homewo-” He stopped dead in front of Danny, jaw dropping in awe. He shoved a piece of paper into Peter's hands without breaking his stare.

“You- you're Danny Rand!”

“Um, yeah,” was all Danny could manage. The kid looked back and forth between Peter and Danny for a moment.

“Peter? Do you see him too?”

“Ned,” stressed Peter. Ned ignored him and turned back to Danny.

“But, wait, why are you here?”

Danny opened his mouth but Peter quickly cut him off. “It’s, uh, part of the- the Stark Internship. Listen, Ned, I've gotta go, see you later?”

Ned gave a faint nod.

“I'll, uh, text you. Bye Ned.”

Peter pushed Danny away from the crowd and around the corner. Ned was left to stand there in shock. Danny didn't say anything until they were out of sight.

“Your friend?”

Peter sighed and released Danny, falling into step next to him.

“Ned? Uh, yeah, he's my friend.”

“Does he know?”

Peter shook his head.

Danny was tempted to suggest that he tell Ned, but then decided that would be pushing it. Instead he watched as Peter rubbed his eyes.

“Peter, if you're tired-” he started, but was cut of by Peter shaking his head once more.

“This is our only chance of find out what's going on. Did you bring the stuff I asked?”

Danny nodded, holding up the bag in his hands. Peter took it and glanced through it, checking that everything he had texted Danny for earlier.

“You still haven't even told me what this is.”

“I'll explain on the way, we don't have long.”

Forty minutes later and Danny was standing in an alley near the Oscorp building, preparing to commit a crime and once again questioning his life choices.

His beard was neatly trimmed in a professional style and his hair slicked back with an ungodly amount of hair gel. Both things felt very wrong, like his skin was stretched the wrong way, and he had to consciously prevent himself from touching his hair for fear of messing it up.

He was dressed in one of those stiff businessy suits that made his shoulders feel tight, and his dark blue tie was very wide and overtly masculine. Every time he blinked he became too aware of the brown-colored contacts in his eyes and the rectangular glasses sitting on his nose added a frame to his vision that he was particularly unfond of.

Needless to say, he was very unhappy about this.

“Nathaniel Radonski,” Peter had explained, “is a Roxxon employee meant to deliver something to Oscorp this afternoon. The file didn't have any details about what it is, but lucky for us this guy looks a lot like you. I was just going to intercept the delivery, but with you we can actually carry it out and literally have them tell the details to your face.”

But Mr. Radonski was now running a tad late, and both Peter and Danny were growing anxious.

“Are you sure he's coming?” asked Danny, “you said he was meant to be here ten minutes ago.” Peter looked up from a wirey mass that he was fiddling with and nodded.

“Positive, he’ll be here.” Peter fitted a wire into a slot, which must of been the correct one because he grinned. He'd been messing with that pile of tech for a little while now, and it wasn’t like anything that Danny could recognize. It looked like a disemboweled Walkman filled with wires and chips and God-knows what. A single earbud stuck out from one side.

“Can you tell me what that is now, at least?” said Danny, pointing at the scrappy contraption.

“An upgrade,” replied Peter simply. He stuck one hand in his pocket and tossed something to Danny without looking up.

Danny caught it and turned it over in his hand. It seemed like the remains of the earbud’s pair, sans the wire. Small, compact, and complete with the little rubbery bit that cushioned it inside your ear.

“Comm system,” explained Peter, “We need to be able to communicate both ways, not just one.”

Danny was impressed, at Peter’s foresight, thoughtfulness and his skill.

“You built this? From scratch?”

Peter nodded quietly, slotting in a final piece at the same time. Danny looked over the device again.

“That's- that's incredible.”

Peter looked at Danny and grinned, color rising in his cheeks. He was about to respond when he noticed with something over Danny’s shoulder and his eyes widened.

“He's here.”

Danny spun around to see a rather flustered looking Nathaniel Radonski rushing towards the Oscorp building, glancing at his watch. In one hand he held a very average looking briefcase.

Although Peter had showed him a photo, seeing him in person was a bit strange. The resemblance was, although not perfect, uncanny. Danny could definitely take his place undetected, although he hoped that in the future Radonski wouldn't retaliate by walking into Rand pretending to be him.

His back was to them, and Peter took the opportunity to shoot a web and pull him into the alley with a quick tug. The kid wasn't in his suit, still dressed like a regular teenager, but had his web shooters on, hidden under his sleeves. Danny wondered if he made a habit of doing that.

Danny caught Radonski by his shoulders and delivered a quick blow to the head to knock him unconscious. The man crumpled, and Danny picked up his suitcase, then placed the comm into his ear. Peter pulled the visitor ID tag off of Radonski’s jacket pocket and tossed it to Danny.

“What about him?” questioned Danny, fastening the badge to his own pocket.

“I'll lock him in a dumpster, just go- you're already late.”

“And the delivery?” he gestured to the case, “I thought-”

“No time! Go!”

Peter forcibly turned him around and shoved him out onto the sidewalk. He hesitated for a moment before starting towards the Oscorp building.

The plan had been to check the contents first, in case they were explicitly dangerous or something, but now he was going in blind. That was bad, not damning, but still bad.

As he reached the Oscorp doors he heard a faint radio noise in his ear: comms were up and running. Peter’s voice buzzed in his ear, slightly distorted but not too loud.

“ _Can you hear me?_ ”  
  
“Yeah,” Danny murmured as he pushed through the doors. He took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. He owned 51% of a huge company, pretending to be business man should be easy, that's all he ever did at Rand.

Except that he really didn't know what he was doing.

He ran a hand over his slicked back hair (a habit he had observed on Ward many times) and walked up to the man at the front desk. Kind of young, kind of stressed, his tag read “Phil”.

“Hi, uh, sorry I'm late but I’m-”

“Mr. Radonski!” interrupted Phil, “Mr. Osborn is waiting for you, top floor, the elevators are to your right.”

“ _Norman Osborn himself is receiving this? It must be important_ ,” muttered Peter in his ear. He said _Norman Osborn_ in an oddly personal way, but Danny shrugged it off. Peter didn't have history to everyone… right?

Danny had read up on Spider-Man while Peter was at school (after a nap, even immortal weapons need sleep), and the kid had quite the resume. Hardly a year as vigilante and he already was the subject of plenty of blogs, conspiracies and news stories. He'd made a bigger mark than older New York vigilantes, which was saying something. Especially after the whole thing in Germany, which practically made Spidey an Avenger, but different than the others. The little guy’s Avenger.

Anyways, his only apparent connection to Osborn was his well-publicized fight with the Lizard, who was actually a scientist from Oscorp who had experimented on himself. And, well, that went about as expected, better really, considering the guy was alive and in private rehab somewhere. Osborn had issued a formal statement of apology for Connor’s action, but had also clearly explained that there had been no connection between his choices and the company’s.

Danny refocused and muttered a quick “thanks” to Phil and went to the elevators. The lobby was modernly stylized and mostly empty, with only a few people moving around. A desperate man in one of the waiting chairs was drinking out of two cups of coffee at the same time, and a blonde intern had started talking to Phil at the front desk about a lost ID after Danny had walked away, but there was hardly anyone else there.

The elevator dinged, and when the doors open thankfully no one was inside. Danny didn't want to stand awkwardly next to someone for the ride up, he was nervous enough already.

He scanned his ID badge and pushed the button for the top floor. There was a pause as the machine processed his access, and for that second he thought it wouldn't work. Everything would fall apart, he'd be found out as an imposter and the whole mission would be for naught.

But the light on the scanner turned green and the doors closed. Danny breathed a sigh of relief. He shouldn't doubt himself, doubt creates failure. Failure leads to death.

“Peter, how're things on your end?” he questioned, as the elevator started to move upwards.

“ _All’s good, Radonski is in the dumpster and even if he wakes up the webbing should hold it closed for another two hours. Have you looked in the case yet_?”

Danny frowned, he should have already been on that.

“No. One second.” He put the case on the floor and placed a hand over each clasp, but before he could open it he felt the elevator come to a halt.

He quickly picked up the case and straightened, just as the elevator doors started to open. He glanced at the display: he wasn't even halfway to the top yet.

The doors slid open to reveal a disgruntled looking woman wearing a leather jacket and a permanent scowl. She had the type of hair that was so dark it looked almost blue and heavy eye makeup that had certainly been slept in, both of which deeply contrasted her pale skin. Like an emo Snow White. She held a kind of air about her as if she really did not want to be awake right now; slightly disheveled, slightly angry and definitely inebriated. In one hand she haphazardly dangled a camera, as if she wasn't aware or didn't care how expensive it was.

Danny was a bit taken aback.

“Uh, hi,” he managed. The woman looked him over and wrinkled her nose. Her response as she stepped onto the elevator was the most uninterested “Hey” he had ever heard. He didn't really blame her, considering how he was dressed.

“ _Smooth_ ,” was the quiet comment in his ear; Danny swore he could hear Peter grinning.

The woman swiped an ID card over the scanner, and pushed a button but the display flashed red in response. The doors had already closed at this point.

“Shit.”

Danny glanced at her card, which had a picture of a teenager with a blonde ponytail and a lab coat: the intern from the lobby. Definitely not the person standing in front of him. The woman turned to him and stuck out her hand expectantly.

“I need your card.”

“I- You- You don't work here,” Danny stammered, trying and failing to maintain his composure. She followed his gaze to her stolen ID tag and simply dropped it on the floor.

“Neither do you,” she said, observing his tag that read “Radonski, Nathaniel - Visitor”. She reached her free hand out to grab it, but he caught her wrist. She didn't seem intimidated at all, actually, she was completely unfazed, bored even.

“ _Smart-ass, I like her_.”

Peter's running commentary was starting to push Danny’s buttons. Not his happy buttons.

“Listen, Nathaniel,” said the woman, with a nod to his tag, “I’m a private investigator, here on business. Now I need to go to the labs on the 93rd floor in order to do my job. Your badge gave you access to the top, it will let me onto the 93rd.”

“Private Investigator?” ask Danny skeptically, not dropping his hand. He didn't think that was something people still did.

“ _Best. Job. Ever_.” Thanks for nothing, Peter.

She sighed and shifted her camera strap onto her shoulder, freeing her other hand, which she then reached into her pocket. Danny tensed.

“ _Relax_ , it's not a gun.” She pulled out a card and handed it to Danny.

 _Alias Investigations, Jessica Jones_. A phone number, an address and an email. Legit.

While he was busy looking at the card she used her free hand to grab his tag and wave it in front of the scanner.

“Hey!”

“Oops,” she responded sarcastically, as she pressed the button for the 93rd. The elevator shifted into motion.

He resigned himself and released her arm, albeit a bit aggressively. She tossed him his badge, which he clipped back on with a huff.

“You're really a PI?”

“Yup,” responded Jessica, popping the “P”.

“And you’re here to… investigate something?”

“Yup.”

“Oh.”

Danny gave up on making conversation, and chose to join Jessica in staring at the door.

“ _Do you think she's here for the same reason we are? Doesn't this just prove that Oscorp’s doing something shady_?”

Danny sniffed and shifted his weight, turning over her card in his hands.

“You don't look like a private investigator,” he tried.

She scoffed. “Any PI that knows what they're doing doesn't look like one.”

Danny opened his mouth, hoping for a clever comeback but without a plan for one, but the elevator dinged and came to a halt.

“See you around,” muttered Jessica as she slipped out the doors. She didn't look back, and Danny had this feeling that he really didn't want to see her again.

“ _If private investigators don't look like private investigators_ ,” murmured Peter in his ear, “ _How do they know what not to look like_?”

“Bad movies,” Danny replied quietly once the door had shut and the elevator had started moving again, “and Sherlock Holmes.”

“ _Technically Sherlock Holmes is a consulting detective, not a PI_.”

“There's a difference?” Danny considered opening the case again, but the display showed that he was now only two floors down from the top, and that definitely wasn't worth the risk.

Instead he had to go in blind.

Brilliant.

“ _Well a pri- nevermind, you don't care. And it's not important_.”

The elevator dinged.

“ _Good luck, Danny_.” It wasn't hopeful, and it wasn't a statement, just an afterthought, as much for Peter as it was for Danny. It was motivation and purpose. A reminder of why instead of desire for how.

And the case _did not_ just move beneath his grip. Nope, nope.

What the hell did he sign up for?

Danny took a deep breath as the doors slid open. On the other side, in a very expensive looking room, stood Norman Osborn himself. Danny, for lack of a better option, slid the PI card into his pocket.

“Mr. Radonski! Good to finally see you!”

Danny’s first impression of Osborn was that of a genuine man in his late middle age. He had the friendliness of a grandpa and the sincerity of a charismatic businessmen.

The room itself was classy and high-quality, with two burly bodyguards on each door. Danny stepped out of the elevator and put on his best smile.

“Uh, yes, sorry I’m late Mr. Osborn-”

“No matter, no matter,” he interrupted, shaking his head. He placed a hand on Danny’s back and led him toward a very nice couch and coffee table, much nicer than Matt’s. Also less broken. “And please, call me Norman.”

Danny nodded and took a seat. The view was, to say the least, incredible. It reminded him of when he used to sneak onto Rand’s roof as a kid, although this seemed even higher up. He could clearly see Stark tower, and a little behind it sat Rand. The innocence of an outside view really didn't do justice to the complicated happenings within, for both buildings. Of course, the same could be said for people.

“So, Nathan - can I call you Nathan? - I received word that, in exchange for my… technological services, my pet project, as it were, has had its kinks worked out?”

Danny blinked. In his ear, Peter was talking at a speed that shouldn't be humanly possible.

“ _So Oscorp lent Roxxon some- some tech in exchange for work on whatever this is- that's where all those shady guys came from, and why they had all that advanced weaponry! It was all Oscorp_!”

“Uh, yes Mr. Osborn- Norman. It’s right here.” Danny shifted the case onto the table, but Norman made no move to grab it. Instead he walked over to the window.

“Do you have children, Nathan?”

Odd question.

“Um, no, I don't.” Danny had never really thought about that before. Iron Fist’s don't exactly have kids, and even without that role regular monks didn't either. Vow of chastity and all that (which he definitely wasn't in denial about breaking). He'd never stopped and considered it.

But, Danny realized, he did want kids. Not for any specific reason, or in any thought out way, but that was definitely a part of his future that he desired.

He really chose the wrong career path for a life like that.

“A shame. I have a son, Nathan, a teenager. As his father I want what's best for him, but, alas, we have always failed to connect, especially after the death of his mother.”

Okay he definitely heard Peter’s breath hitch that time.

“I- sorry.”

“It's not your fault, no one's really. But, nevertheless, I’m still thriving to do what's best for my son, for her.”

“So… this was for him?”

“Everything was- is for him. You'll understand if you ever have children, Nathan.”

Danny nodded absently. His mind was whirring, in two directions at once. Either this man was crazy or earnest, evil or genuine. Peter had gone silent, so no help there.

He just needed to play this through and find out what exactly was in the case.

“Well, I don't want to hold you any longer than I have to - you're a busy man, I’m sure - so let me just check the merchandise and you can be on your way.”

Norman moved to the case and turned it towards himself, undoing the clasps in a graceful and fluid motion. He opened it and Danny immediately tended, but from his angle he couldn't see the contents.

Norman smiled and reached his hands in, withdrawing a stack of papers, then went back to the window while looking through them, muttering affirmatives as he flicked through.

Danny stood, trying his very best to not look suspicious, and walked slowly towards Norman. As he rounded the coffee table, he stole a glance at the case’s contents.

Foam padding lined the interior of both sides, with shapes cut out for the contents. One paper-sized area had clearly held the documents Norman was looking through, and another, next to it, held a small glass capsule.

It was about the size and shape of a mason jar, but smooth, and with no visible opening. At first Danny thought it was empty, but then he realized there was a weird black substance sitting in the shadow cast by the case’s open side.

It was like a very thick dark liquid, reminiscent of the goop kids make out of Elmer's glue and cornstarch. The substance filled out exactly the area of the shadow and stopped precisely at its edge, hiding perfectly. Danny may not have seen it, if not for the fact it seemed to be _moving_.

Was it… _alive_?

“So…” started Danny slowly, trying to cover up his repulsion at the black goo, “this is a- a gift for your son?”

“Of sorts,” answered Norman, without looking up. “From myself, and from his hero, Spider-Man.”

Danny froze, but Norman just laughed at his own joke. The man was still wrapped up in his papers, and hadn't so much as glanced at Danny.

“What do you mean?” slipped through Danny’s gritted teeth.

“You don't know? Well, I guess you're just the courier, not one of the scientists who worked on this. The symbiote, Nathan, was made using Spider-Man’s blood. It can make anyone as strong, as great, as amazing as Spider-Man, better even.”

Danny locked his jaw; he wasn't even listening anymore, and he couldn't fathom why Peter was silent. All that filled his mind was the repulsive creation in glass, the fact someone had twisted Spider-Man’s - Peter’s - blood and intended to use it on a _child_. It was wrong. So, so, so wrong.

“I can't let you have this,” fell out of Danny’s  
mouth, quiet, angry, and threatening, though he hadn't intended to say anything. The guards at the doors tensed, and Danny took a step towards Norman. The man was hardly even listening, still reading the documents.

It was one of those fight-not-flight moments. When the conscious part of Danny’s mind fell away and all that's left was a burning earnesty, years of training in martial arts and a glowing fist. No thinking, just doing, and right now his body knew exactly what it needed to do. His chi was already centering in his fist without him even trying, and, with Norman distracted, this was the perfect moment.

Instead of a badass display of Iron Fist butt-kicking and martial arts takedown, however, a certain spidery teenager in a backpack burst through the window and crashed directly into Norman Osborn. The Walkman/comm contraption was in one of the backpacks mesh cup-holders, and the single earbud trailed off of it and under the seam of Peter’s mask to reach his ear.

Glass scattered across the nice carpet, miraculously not doing any major damage to either of the people it hit.

Spider-Man jumped to his feet, and, in an spectacularly failed attempt to make his entrance more casual, gave Danny a friendly wave. “What's up?”

Norman Osborn, flustered, pulled his scattered paper together and stood in a huff. “Spider-Man! What a _pleasure_.”

The way he said “pleasure” made the opposite point very clear.

“Normy,” refuted Spidey, with equal disdain, “I hear you've been messing with my blood, not cool bro.”

The guards at the doors started to rush forward, but Norman waved them back. He glanced back at forth between Spider-Man and Danny.

“You!” He pointed at Danny, “You double crossed me- Roxxon backed out of our deal!”

“Not quite,” muttered Danny, scooping up the glass capsule with his left hand. He could feel the warmth of the black stuff against the glass, and the sensation of tiny movement under his fingers was thoroughly disgusting. Something about the stuff just screamed “Kill it!” to Danny, but he wasn't sure if that was human fear or Iron Fist intuition.

Then Norman’s eyes fell on Danny’s glowing hand. “What the _hell_ are you?”

Peter snapped his fingers at Osborn to gain his attention, “Oi, Norman, eyes on the prize. You did something very naughty and- what are you doing?”

Norman had pulled something over his ears, like really sleek looking headphones, but nothing Danny had ever seen before. Norman met Spidey’s eyes and smirked.

Peter retailed with another of his multitude of snarky comments. “Don't you know it's rude to have your headphones on when someone's trying to talk to you?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Danny noticed that the guards had pulled devices over their ears too.  
He didn't have time to process this, however, because an ear splitting wail of high-pitched sound burst from all around and filled the room.

The noise shook through the floor and everything vibrated, or maybe that was just Danny’s vision bouncing. It was all he could do to not drop the capsule and just cover his ears. Instead, he just kind of froze.

For a moment he was back on the airplane. The plane was shaking and falling apart, something hit his head, his mother ran to check…

No.

This was not important right now.

This was not the plane. It was nothing.

It hurt, it definitely hurt, but this was nothing compared to facing Shao-Lao. He took a steadying breath.  
  
In the corner of his eye he saw Peter crumple, hand over his ears. Enhanced senses, right. Danny couldn't imagine what this must be doing to him. Something awful, by the looks of it.

Norman was entirely unaffected, protected by the device over his ears. He strode towards Spider-Man with malice in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

Okay, that was it. Danny couldn't hold himself back any longer.

This, this noise wasn't a defense system, it was a battle cry, and Danny was most certainly going to answer.

His chi was already focused into his hand, and the single minded battle focus was already setting in. Speakers- speakers were in the walls right? And if he shook up that system, the sound would stop.

So, obviously, he slammed his fist into the floor.

That went about as well as you'd expect.

As in, the floor collapsed.

And the one after that.

And maybe a few more, Danny lost track.

The sound _did_ stop though, so it's at least a little a win.

Danny coughed. He was surrounded by dust and building bits, and body guard lay unconscious a little ways away, but she looked mostly fine.

Danny’s leg hurt more than he'd probably admit, he must of landed on it funny. One lens of his glasses was shattered, the earbud comm was long lost and his hair had lost its smooth, slicked back-ness, reverting mostly to scattered curls covered in plaster. Big loss there.

Mm, punching throw the floor? Not his best move ever, but he could roll with it.

He heard some coughing from his left. Coughing that sounded suspiciously like Peter.

He dropped to his knees and shifted some patches of wall and dusty tiling aside. Underneath lay a curled up Spider-Man, with his hands over his ears. He was shaking, but didn't look very injured, just dirty - falling through a building does that to you. The mask concealed any kind facial expression, but the lens were pulled tight like he had his eyes shut. Danny put a hand on his shoulder.

“P- Spidey, hey. You good?” At his voice Peter nodded. In seconds he was on his feet, wobbly and breathing weirdly, but not dangerously so.

“Ugh,” was all he said, a hand on head. He was disoriented and off balance, but mostly okay. Danny should really ask Matt about the super senses thing sometime.

The Walkman/comm device had fallen to the ground, but it didn't seem very broken, mostly jostled. Danny picked it up and shoved it into a pocket.

“What happened?”

Danny just pointed up, and Peter followed his finger.

Danny would never not be humored by the sudden expansion of Spider-Man’s eyepieces, giving him to most ridiculously startled look. The foggy disorientation fell out of his body like he had drunk several energy drinks all at once.

“Holy guacamole!”

Through the dust and bits of plaster in the air a large, uneven hole was visible, breaking through several layers of floor and ceiling. A few scientists and other workers peered fearfully over the edges above them. As far as Danny could tell, no one had been hurt, which was honestly a miracle. Several alarms were sounding.

“You did this?” asked Peter from his side.

Danny nodded, a bit sheepish, “I was trying to stop the noise.”

“Awesome,” breathed Peter. Danny grinned, but frowned almost immediately after.

“We need to go, now.”

Peter nodded, “Where's the creepy goo?”

Danny looked down at his left hand in horror. The capsule was gone.

The capsule.

The goal of their mission.

The whole point.

The distortion of Peter’s blood.

Was gone.

He'd failed.

Danny tripped over his words. The Iron Fist, with all its rage and energy, was gone, and what's left was just tired flustered Danny Rand. This happened all too often.

“It's- I don't-”

But Peter wasn't listening, he was looking past Danny’s shoulder. Danny spun around, then quickly regretted it because of the pain in his ankle.

Norman Osborn stood amidst the settling clouds of dust atop an upturned counter a few yards away. He had a couple forming bruises and his fancy suit was torn, but he was smiling nonetheless. In one hand he triumphantly brandished the glass capsule.

He opened his mouth to speak, a victorious grin dancing through across his eyes, but Peter shot a quick web to silence him.

Frustrated, he struggled to pull the webbing off and gestured angrily at them.

“Use your words Normy,” taunted Peter from Danny’s side. Norman glared at them and ripped the webbing off his face. It made the gross sticky noise of stuck skin, like peeling off a bandaid.

“You can't touch me, Spider-Man.” he gestured to the people peering over the floors above them, “What will New York think of the spider who attacks the head of Oscorp?”

Spider-Man blew a very mature raspberry. An impressive feat, considering he was wearing a mask.

“Doesn't mean I can't do this.”

Spidey shot a web at the capsule and tugged. It flew from Osborn’s hands in a low arc, right into Peter’s arms.

“See, that wasn't so hard. Sharing is caring.”

“Spidey,” warned Danny.

“Right, leaving. Thanks for screwing with my blood Norman, it's been a blast.”

“Security!”

Several big bodyguards stepped forward from the edges of Danny's vision. Only a few looked like had been in the fall, and nearly all of them had guns. They formed a neat oval around them as Norman strode forward. This was bad. They should have left already.

That was a very alarming number of guns pointing at him.

“It's been nice knowing you, _Nathaniel_ ,” he spat. Then he spoke to the guards in a low voice, “Grab Spider-Man, we can make good use of him. Kill the spare. He's a liability.”

A man with big shoulders grabbed Peter by the arms, and another took Danny by the arm as a third shoved a gun between Danny’s shoulder blades.

They frogmarched the two vigilantes away from the broken rooms and into a vacated lab area, out of site of the above floors. Someone pulled the capsule from Peter's hands.

“Say goodbye to your friend, Spider-Man,” grunted the man holding Peter. He sounded almost… sympathetic?

Danny met Peter’s gaze and took a moment staring intently into his wide white lenses. After a moment of understanding Spidey nodded.

“What, nothing?” asked the security guard.

“Actually,” said Peter, breaking eye contact, “I have a better idea.”

“And what's that?”

“How about…”

As he said this, Peter shoved the guy off his back and webbed one of the people holding Danny’s arms.

“We kick your butt!”

Danny, however, was not watching. He was busy shoving an elbow into the the gut of the man holding a gun to his back. Someone fired, and Danny felt a billet graze his upper arm. Barely damaged, he could deal with that later.

He ripped the gun out of one guards hands before shoving his knee into the back of another. Then it was a flying spin kick into someone's chest. A well placed palm and a quick arm twist downed another. Meanwhile Peter was wrestling the capsule away from the man who took it.

Danny cursed himself for wasting his chi on punching through the floor.

He dealt with his frustration by punching a security guard in the face. Healthy coping mechanisms, Danny’s specialty.

They were down to three guys now, two on Spider-Man, one on Danny. One lunged for the black goo, but Spidey pulled it out of her reach and tossed it easily to Danny.

Then he waved his hands is some kind of mock Kung-fu move and shouted “Hiya!”.

This kid is equal parts incredibly skilled and absolutely unprofessional.

“Iron Fist?!” he called, webbing the guard to the ground.

“Yeah?”

“Do you trust me?”

Danny grunted and twisted a guard’s arm in a direction it was definitely not meant to go. “Sure. Why?”

“Because you probably won't in a moment.”

Danny would've questioned this, but his words got caught in his throat as Peter grabbed him around the middle and shoved him through the window.

For a moment, they were falling. And then they were swinging. Danny would never get used to this.

He hadn't even realized that this was the first time Peter had really called him “Iron Fist”.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the part in the story when the author realizes they have no idea what their doing. 
> 
> The next one will be better, I promise. This one was a hot mess.
> 
> Also sorry that it took so long, I meant to do it earlier but I was very very busy.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed quick Ned and quick Jessica. She will return, do not worry.
> 
> Also, on Homecoming. Firstly, it was incredible. Go see it. Secondly, this fic now officially takes place in the two months between Civil War and Homecoming. 
> 
> This was definitely meant to be a Peter-centric, but Danny accidentally took over. Writing his perspective just feels a lot more right in many ways. 
> 
> Also I'd like to shout out everyone who left a comment. You guys make my day, and I love hearing what you think about my writing. You're the reason this is a multi-chapter story, not just a one-off one-shot. Thank you.


	5. Visits of the Unexpected Variety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They owe it to each other.

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

 

Danny and Peter were sat in the only two seats of the sad circular table that was entirety of Matt’s dining room, Peter slouching forward with his hands stretched out in front of him and Danny stiffly straight with his arms crossed. Peter's mask was abandoned on the floor from the moment they arrived.

 

Matt was in the kitchen making coffee, because after a long day of lawyer-ing he still has to come home to this and he deserves it dammit. 

 

On the counter sat a glass container. Inside the container sat the creepiest substance Matt had ever encountered, and he had seen people come back from the dead. It moved without a heartbeat or mechanical noise and every fluid shift made his skin crawl.

 

He had a headache. Also he was pretty sure Danny was bleeding, and he knew for a fact that Peter was sleep deprived. 

 

Sometimes he regrets choosing the vigilante life. Or having the vigilante life crawl through his living room window.

 

“This was our only op-” started Peter weakly.

 

“So you said. Why didn't you contact me?” 

 

“You had work!” 

 

“That's a poor excuse and you know it.” Matt was getting in a lot of practice with his angry eyes. He was pretty sure they were more pointed at the toaster than either of the idiots in front of him, but he didn't particularly care. 

 

“But-”

 

“Look at this.” Matt shoved a newspaper into Danny’s hands. He picked it up and read it aloud. 

 

“Spider-menace kidnaps businessman after damaging Oscorp building. There's a blurry photo too.” 

 

“Since when can you read the newspaper?” asked Peter, turning his head towards Matt without bothering to lift it off the table. 

 

Matt pinched the bridge of his nose; Peter was totally missing the point.

 

“Foggy read it to me.”

 

Just then the coffee machine finished its job and the mug was full. Matt turned to grab it. 

 

“It's the Bugle anyways, everyone knows they're full of crap,” mumbled Peter. 

 

“That doesn't mean you weren't endangering yourself, and everyone around you! You took on Norman Osborn!” he pointed towards Danny, or the window, hard to tell, “And you encouraged him!” 

 

Danny made a squeaky noise, then opened and closed his mouth a few times. Finally he spoke in a low voice, “He took Peter’s blood.”

 

Matt raised his eyebrows. 

 

What the actual hell. 

 

So that thing, the moving mass with no heartbeat in the glass…

 

“So that’s-”

 

“Yeah,” Peter interrupted. 

 

“How did he get it? What did he do?”

 

Peter shrugged. Then, after a moment, muttered, “I don't know.” 

 

Matt took a sip of his coffee. A long, drawn-out sip. He let the bitterness fill his senses from a moment, to ground his frustration for a moment.

 

It wasn't very good coffee.

 

“What are we going to about this?” asked Danny, never one to let silence sit, “First Roxxon, now Oscorp? We still don't even know what those weapons were for,” then he gestured at the thing in the glass, “and we don't even know what that  _ is. _ ”

 

“‘The Symbiote’”

 

“What?” Matt was starting to feel like they had left out a good deal of the story. He wasn't even sure why they had come to his apartment.

 

“That's what he called it, ‘The Symbiote’.” 

 

Danny shifted in his chair. “What does that mean?” 

 

“Like a parasite. Attaches to a host to leech off of them in some way, sometimes gives them something in return; I can run some tests tomorrow-” Peter cut himself off with a yawn. He had completely drooped against the table at this point, and he wasn't even trying to keep his eyes open anymore.

 

Matt took another sip of coffee, as if his energy gain would somehow transcribe onto Peter to make up for the kid’s severe lack of sleep. Halfway through his sip, however, the coffee smell was slightly offset by a distinct copper scent in the air that he could no longer ignore.

 

He set down his mug with a sigh and turned, trying to remember where he put the first aid kit. Ah, the knife drawer, because he cut his hand last week.

 

Just because he's a blind ninja doesn't mean the blind part doesn't catch up with him on occasion.

 

He pulled the kit out, then went to the freezer for an ice pack. That's how you help twisted ankles right? Or was it heat? 

 

“What are you doing?” 

 

“You're bleeding,” Matt tossed the ice pack into Danny’s hands, “put that on your ankle, it will lessen the inflammation”.

 

Danny did so. “It’s weird that you know that.” 

 

Matt just smiled and decided not to mention the bruises forming on Danny’s arms. Instead he placed a hand on Danny’s upper arm and felt along the injury. Bullet, probably. Not actually hit, only skimmed. Just disinfectant and bandages then, but Matt couldn't work through just the minute tear in Danny’s shirt. 

 

He pulled sharply on the fabric, bringing the hole to a size that was actually manageable. Danny winced.

 

“I hope you didn't like that shirt,” muttered Matt as he ran his fingers through the first aid kit until he found the alcohol wipes. 

 

“I can do this myself you know.” 

 

Danny hissed as Matt brought the alcohol to his arm. A sound that gave Matt no satisfaction whatsoever. 

 

“I owe you one.” More than one really, but best just to leave it there for now. Treating an injury was easier that apologizing for he had acted last night. Or somehow repaying Danny for saving Peter’s life. 

 

Danny got ready to argue, but then decided against it. He muttered a quiet “Thanks” instead. 

 

Matt let the silence linger as he worked. Danny fidgeted with the ice pack on his ankle, but didn't say anything, for once. It was Matt who broke the quiet a few moments later. 

 

“Why did you come here anyways?” 

 

Danny blinked. “What do you mean?”

 

“Here. To my apartment.” 

 

Danny glanced around, as if searching for the answer. 

 

“We didn't really consider another option.” 

 

Matt thought about this for a moment. Half of him wanted to argue that he wasn't going to let his apartment become some kind of vigilante home-base, but the other half was touched by the respect and trust that were implied by Danny’s words. He decided to leave it.

 

He tuned into Peter for a moment, only to discover that the teenager had fallen asleep. His breathing was steady and his heartbeat gently slowed. Good, he needed it, although crappy tables were probably not the ideal location. 

 

Matt finished applying the bandage, straightened and set the kit on the counter. Danny pulled a new shirt (or old, considering it smelled like he had already worn it half the day) out of Peter’s backpack and started unbuttoning the one he was wearing. 

 

“Hey, Peter.” he gently shook Peter’s shoulder, but to no response, “Get up, or I'll have carry you bridal style again, and no one wants that.” 

 

Peter fluttered his eyes a few times before muttering something incoherent and dragging himself into a standing position. 

 

“I'm awake. I'm very, very awake.” 

 

The gentle slurring of his words was very convincing.

 

“Clearly. Does your aunt expect you home?” 

 

“Told her,” Peter yawned, “Staying with a friend.” 

 

If it had been a school night Matt would have considered sending him home later, but today was Friday, and Matt had the weekend free. It couldn't hurt to let Peter sleep in one place for the night. 

 

“Come on then.”

 

He guided Peter towards his bedroom. Without another word Peter collapsed onto the bed, not even bothering to pull back the covers, and in moments his breathing had returned to the calm deepness that marked his sleep.

 

Matt grabbed one of his softer blankets and threw it over Peter before returning to the kitchen, gently closing the door on his way out.

 

“He falls asleep in that suit way too often,” he muttered, mostly to himself. 

 

“It does look like pajamas,” offered Danny, now newly dress in a t-shirt that Matt was sure didn't match the pants of his suit. It also held a faint smell of green tea that inclined Matt to think Danny had spilled some on it around noon. Made sense, Danny was a clumsy person in all aspects of the word.

 

Matt smirked and grabbed his coffee from the counter. Stark would hate to hear his fancy technology called “pajamas”.

 

He sank into Peter’s now empty seat and as he did so his hand brushed the remains of Danny’s costume, now joined by the torn shirt. They had explained Nathaniel Radonski, so the glasses that brushed the heel of his palm didn't surprise him, but his fingers grazed something bulky that sat in the folds of the jacket.

 

“What's this?” he asked, pointing. Danny fished it out of the suit and handed it to him. 

 

“It's um, like a comm system- well, most of one. Peter made it.”

 

Matt set down his mug and turned it over in his hands, running his fingers across the wires and plastic plates. A hard exterior shell with lots of wires and bits and complicated nonsense in the middle. Some kind of earbud attached to one side. Probably clever craftsmanship, but Matt couldn't tell. He'd never been very good with technology. 

 

“He built this?” 

 

“Yeah, I’m impressed too, it worked really well, until, um...” 

 

“When did he have time to make it? He fell asleep during his workshop class.” 

 

“It was already mostly finished when he- wait, how do you know that?” 

 

Danny squinted at him in that specific way he does when he's confused. All muscles and heart, his physiognomy was easier to read than most people that Matt had met above the age of seven.

 

“He never falls asleep in that class unless he'd had less than two hours of sleep.” 

 

Danny stared. 

 

“But how do you  _ know _ that?” 

 

Matt blinked, realizing his mistake. He considered backtracking for a moment, but concluded that Danny deserved at least some of his trust. 

 

“I have someone keeping tabs on him.” He answered vaguely. He set down the device, and took a sip of coffee. It still wasn't very good.

 

“Who?” demanded Danny. Matt decided the question wasn't worth evading. Peter was asleep, anyhow. 

 

“My, um, intern. A high schooler. She gives me updates.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Peter struggles with communication.” 

 

Danny considered this for a moment. 

 

“But how did you get her to do that without it seeming creepy?” 

 

“She approached me actually, but that's besides the-” 

 

Just then a fire engine wailed past, its sharp noise cutting through Matt’s focus and completely sidestepping his thoughts. The sound was sharp grit in his ears and rubbed against his nerves, painfully replacing his aural space with hot metal. 

 

He set the mug down heavily on the table and took a deep breath.

 

“What's is it? What's wrong?” Danny jumped up from his seat, jostling the table under Matt’s finger tips. Man, this guy is really zero-to-sixty. 

 

“Nothing, just a, um,” he waved one hand dismissively while pinching the bridge of his nose with the other; he’s a brilliant multitasker. “Fire Truck, loud. Surprised me.” 

 

Danny sat down carefully, eyeing Matt. “I didn't hear one.”

 

“Several streets down.” He gestured vaguely, not wanting to explain the actual distance. 

 

Danny didn't stop staring. It's very unnerving to know you're being stared at without being able to see it. Matt was used to it, but, still. 

 

“So, your… senses, they-?” 

 

“Yes.” Matt’s headache was too prominent at this point for him to really bother to articulate what his perception of the world was like. He'd rather skip the explanation. 

 

“And you-?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

Maybe he should stop fighting it and just accept the tiredness and headaches as his normal state of being. Matthew Headache Murdock. 

 

“Oh.”

 

Then Danny said something that no one had ever said to him about his powers before.

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

Matt blinked. He brought his hand away from the bridge of his nose and made a good effort to point his eyes directly at Danny.

 

“What?” 

 

Danny paused for a thoughtful moment, then repeated himself.

 

“I’m sorry, that your powers cause pain.” 

 

Matt thought about this for a moment.

He considered his own inability to  _ not  _ hear, his few friendships on the brink of collapse, all of the tragedy that had befallen Peter’s life, and all the people they had both lost. Then even the story of Captain America and the recent disaster of the accords and Germany. He wondered how Danny had gotten his weird energy fist.

 

“Don't they all?” he said quietly. 

 

His words lingered in the air for a moment.

 

Then he stood up abruptly, jostling the table once more. He really should get sturdier tables. Then he cast his thoughts to his coffee table, which was now just a sad heap of wood in the corner. Maybe sticking to cheap tables was the best decision.

 

“I have to go,” he announced. He felt along the couch for his jacket, found it and pulled it on. 

 

“I should probably-” started Danny, moving to stand up as well.

 

“No.” 

 

His words were acting against him; Matt definitely didn't want Danny here when he got back. Hell, he didn't even want Peter here. 

 

“What?” 

 

“You're exhausted.” There they go again. “Barely slept, ran around getting shot at. Stay, and catch up on some sleep.” 

 

“Are you sure?” 

 

“Yes, take the couch.”

 

Dammit.

  
  


Once out the door of his building Matt pulled his glasses and cane from the pockets of his jacket. He donned the glasses, extended the cane and hailed a cab. 

 

There were now two idiotic vigilantes freeloading in his apartment (not to mention taking up his only two available sleeping spaces) and he was very frustrated at himself for allowing it to happen. 

 

He didn't do things like this. He wasn't a supportive figurehead, he was a self-destructive solo act who only half-knew what he was doing. 

 

He was really, really trying to be a good role model for Peter, to be his friend, be his mentor. It was hard, Matt had never been cut out for parenting, much less for superhero babysitting. Peter was an eager genius with super strength and a penchant for getting himself in trouble. Matt struggled to just keep up with him, let alone keep him safe.

 

Befriending Spider-Man had been an accident; befriending Danny should never have happened. 

 

This was definitely a mistake.

 

But why did he not regret it?

 

Matt sighed and shifted his shoulders. Right now he has bigger problems. 

 

Namely: where Norman Osborn had gotten Spider-Man’s blood. 

 

Of course Peter had gotten injured plenty of times in the streets, and scraping a bit of his DNA off the sidewalk would be easy if done right, but Matt had the feeling that to make something as fine-tuned and perfected as this “Symbiote”, they'd need more, probably over a period of time. 

 

Actually, the bullet that Peter had been shot with was specially designed for someone with his healing and physiology- probably would have killed him if Danny hadn't stepped in. And if the weaponry had been supplied to Roxxon by Oscorp, then maybe Norman had gotten a little over-zealous in his experimenting.

 

God, if Matt got his hands on Osborn, the things he would...

 

The taxi pulled to a stop and Matt shoved money into the cabbie’s hand as he got out. He had probably over-tipped, but he really didn't care. Bills are just bills; teenager’s lives are something entirely more important. 

 

He entered the building to the familiar buzzy light in the main entrance and the same scent of dead flowers that perpetuated the foyer. He followed the hall as he always did, running his hand along the bad paint job. This place was more a home to him than his own apartment.

 

He carefully turned the key to the offices of Nelson and Murdock, because it had a habit of breaking off in the lock and he thoroughly wanted to avoid that. The door opened with a familiar creak and breathed the sigh of relief he always felt when entering these rooms. 

 

The room was empty, of course. Matt didn't know what he had expected. The annoying lights that always bugged him wasn't present either, which was nice. He should come here after hours more often. 

 

Some half-eaten boxes of Chinese food lay across a table, probably Foggy, after Matt had left. Foggy liked eating in the offices. 

 

He brushed his hand along his desk as he swept through his office, knocking some of his intern’s sticky-note doodles onto the floor. She knew that he couldn't see them, but insisted on giving them to him anyways, saying that their vibes would reach him either way. Strange girl, that one.

 

He pulled out a small key and felt for the lock of the lowest drawer of his file cabinet. Once inside he brushed aside a layer of files and pulled out his old Daredevil suit, from back when he was just a figure in the shadows, not a well-known vigilante.

 

It was covered in a thin layer of dust that Matt brushed off with one hand. It was all there, just as he had left it. A strange sensation trickled down his spine as he recalled the last time he had put it on.

 

He could've worn his actual Daredevil suit, but getting it out would require letting Danny know what he was doing, and then the aforementioned billionaire would’ve insisted on coming. And Matt was not even considering allowing that. This was a job perfect for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, bringing a kid with a magic hand would just complicate things. 

 

This suit was only here for emergencies, and though this wasn't one, but it damn well was important, and that's a good enough reason for Matt. 

 

He had it half on when he sensed movement in the hallway- a heartbeat.

 

It was probably just one of the other building tenants, there had been a few people moving around when he'd entered, nothing unusual.

 

Except this was definitely headed for his offices. 

 

He dropped low behind his desk and reached out a hand carefully to pull his baton from the file cabinet. He still didn't have his shirt on, or the mask. 

Matt felt the man grab the door handle in the same exact moment that he recognized the smell of the man's shampoo, the swish of his suit, his breathing pattern. He could feel the familiar heartbeat in his ears and breathed a sigh of relief.

 

Matt stood abruptly, just as the door swung open with it’s usual creak. 

 

“Foggy.” 

 

Foggy, for his part, nearly dropped his coffee cup. 

 

“Matt?!”

 

Matt gave a small wave. He should've realized Foggy was still here, the takeout on the table wasn't abandoned, just half-finished. Foggy was probably just working overtime, like Matt would likely be if he hadn't heard the news about an idiotic pair of vigilantes breaking into Oscorp. 

 

“What the  _ actual _ hell Murdock?” 

 

“Nice to see you too.” He stepped out from behind his desk, more for Foggy’s sake than his own. 

 

His partner spluttered for a moment before finally managing, “Where's your shirt?”

 

In response Matt picked up that piece of his suit and pulled in on. Foggy shot out several more questions as he did so.

 

“Why are you here? Did you find Spider-Man? Is that the old  _ Daredevil  _ suit?!”

 

Matt simply nodded, adjusting his sleeves into a more comfortable position. Foggy’s stared at him.

 

**“** Has that been in our office this whole time?!”

 

Matt tuned out Foggy’s rambling and slid the batons into their place at his side, then pulled the cloth around his head. God, the old costume felt strange. He was so… exposed. It smelled of dust, sweat and blood, and sat differently than he was used to. He was definitely spoiled by the security and make of his actual suit. He made a mental note to thank Melvin.

 

“Matt!” 

 

He tilted his head up and slightly to the side, trying to give the impression that he was listening again. Foggy sighed.

 

“You promised that you'd keep Daredevil separate from Nelson and Murdock.” 

 

Matt opened his mouth. He  _ had _ promised that, but then things had gotten complicated and suddenly Spider-Man was a teenager needing his help and new threats started rolling in and he had decided that the best way to be safe was to keep the spare suit near him. And he knew Foggy wouldn't understand the severity of the situation he was in, but he also didn't know how to explain him. 

 

Luckily Foggy cut him off.

 

“Look, Matt, I know your life is crazy, and anytime I think you will dial it back you just keep going faster. I've accepted that. I'd be fooling myself if I thought you'd slow this down just because I asked.”

 

Matt blinked, but when he went to respond Foggy cut him off once more.

 

“I only have two rules now, and you better listen to at least those.”

 

Matt nodded.

 

“Don't die, don't even come close to dying, don't bleed out in an alley or get super shot or sta-”

 

“Foggy, I get it.” 

 

“And,” started Foggy dramatically, “I get to meet Spider-Man.” 

 

He stuck out his hand, with the professional and expectant air that he closed actual deals with. Matt hesitated for a moment, but then took it.

 

“Deal.”

 

Matt moved to pull away from the handshake, but Foggy held him there. 

 

“This is for him isn't it?” 

 

Matt tilted his head at Foggy.

 

“What?”

 

Foggy squeezed his hand gently. “You forget Murdock, I know you, and you only ever look this determined when a kid is in danger.”

 

Matt didn't say anything. 

 

“He's okay right? Spider-Man? You got him out of that Oscorp mess earlier?”

 

“Yeah- uh, he's okay. He's at my apartment.”

 

Foggy nodded solemnly.

 

“I don't want anything to happen to you Matt, don't get me wrong, but I don't want anything to happen to him either.”

 

“I'll make sure of it.”

 

Foggy released his grip and they dropped hands. 

 

Matt left through the fire escape.

  
  


Amidst all the web-slinging, falling and flying, sometimes Matt misses his blind sprints across rooftops. 

 

It's a rush of adrenaline at every turn, his senses at their peak, and each jump a test and each landing a question that he was sure he knew his answer to. 

 

In some ways it was the height of his capabilities, to be for a moment suspended in the air without touching anything, yet the next continuing his run without missing a step. It was the real call of his senses, and it was thrilling.

 

The run, pleasant as it may be, didn't last forever. Daredevil was nearing his destination, his ears telling him that he had come to the right place. He wasn't sure quite what he would learn, if his suspicions were correct, there would be hell to pay.

 

It wasn't a small apartment by any means, and it was placed at the top of its complex, but the low height of the building and the grungy neighborhood were more indicative of its inhabitant’s status than the large interior. Peter had mentioned this place a while back, and after some cautious research (aka following the kid) Matt had moved it from his potentially-dangerous-areas-of-Peter’s-life list to the mostly-harmless category, although he had still been apprehensive about actually trusting the place. By the way things were playing out, he was glad he hadn't.

 

He scaled the fire escape with rapid efficiency, landing neatly and silently on the balcony outside the top floor window, head tilted to the side, listening. It was late, but not late enough for most adults to be asleep. Sure enough, from inside the apartment Matt could sense a distinctly awake adult male, along with the clink of glasses and the smell of strong soap. He wrinkled his nose. 

 

As much as Matt disliked the overly fragrant candles and essential oil smells, the strong industrially chemical scents were in some ways much worse. It was maybe closer to bleach than dish-soap, and it stung. Matt already did not like this.

 

Nevertheless pulled the window open, surprised that someone like this would have such little security. Or maybe it wasn't surprising, all things considered. 

 

Daredevil slunk around a tight corner and listened carefully. His target was moving around in a room off of the main hallway, right at the center of the soap smell. It was strong enough that Matt was struggling to pick up most other scents, and it was distracting him from his other senses, messing with his head. Nothing intense, but a problem.

 

Based on the sounds and smell, Matt would've guessed that his target was cleaning some incredibly dirty dishes, but the man was nowhere near his kitchen. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen crept along the hallway, focusing intently. If he came from the right angle, ended this quickly, he could just get what he needs and leave. 

 

The man’s back was to him, and in an instant he had the guy in a headlock with one hand covering his mouth to prevent him from screaming. It's unlikely that the other tenants would hear if he did, but Matt liked to play it safe. And the soap stuff was hurting his head, and he’d rather not perpetuate that. Through his glove it felt like the guy was wearing a medical mask, like a surgeon does.

 

He pulled the man away from his work-table gruffly until Matt’s back was against the wall, bracing his legs as the guy struggled silently in his arms, but Matt was stronger by far, and didn't budge.

 

“Dr. Curt Connors,” he whispered gruffly, “I have some questions, and you will definitely want to give me the answers.”

 

Unfortunately, things in reality barely run as smoothly as they did in the plan. 

 

Suddenly, the man in his arms was tossing something at his face. Something liquid. Something that smelled distinctly like bleach. 

 

It his face with a weird tingling feeling and an overwhelming smell. Matt’s balance fell sideways and then he couldn't tell where anything was, where Connors was. His mind was hazy and the only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat, the only thing he could smell was bleach and the only thing he could really feel was the a tingling sensation across his face.

 

For a man with one arm, Dr. Connors wrestled his way out of Matt's grasp surprising quickly. Matt stepped forward and tried to fight him, but suddenly found himself being pushed into a table filled with more of the soap-stuff. Without a good sense of his bearings, Daredevil collapsed into it, bringing both the table and himself to the floor.

 

He'd been having rather bad luck with tables recently.

 

He struggled to his feet as Connors ducked out of the room. Matt wasn't far behind, stumbling and relying on the walls for support. It was like his internal depth perception was all out of whack, and he was so light-headed that it was taking all of his concentration to just remain upright. 

 

Breathing heavily from the exertion, he followed Connors into the kitchen, where the man was fumbling for a knife. Matt inhaled and threw a groggy punch that hit only air, then another that connected with a cheek bone. 

 

The tingly haze was starting to dissipate, barely. But enough that Matt could tell that Connors was thrusting a kitchen knife towards his ribs, not enough for him to process anyway of stopping it outside of a blind grab. One that ended with his hand wrapped firmly around the blade. 

 

There was a pause as Dr. Connors watched, horrified, as blood seeped between Daredevil’s fingers. For his part, Matt held steady, panting as as he pulled the knife from Connors’ hand and tossed it to the floor. Then he grabbed the man by his collar and brought his face close to his own.

 

“You're not the kind of man who wants to hurt people, Dr. Connors,” started Daredevil in a low voice, “I, however, am willing to do whatever it takes. Now you better start talking.” 

 

Connors swallowed and nodded weakly.

 

“I know that Spider-Man comes here to get patched up,”

 

A nod. Well, a tension of muscles that Matt had come to recognize as a nod, but a nod nonetheless.

 

“I know that you know his identity,”

 

Another nod.

 

“I know Norman Osborn has you on his payroll,”

 

Not a nod, but a change in his heartbeat that Matt’s recovering senses could just detect.

 

“I know that you're a weak man who wants to help himself,”

 

Nothing. 

 

“But what I need to know,” Daredevil dropped his voice even lower and tightened his grip, “is if you're so weak that you'll give a teenager’s blood to a madman.” 

 

Connors’ breath caught in his throat and his heart rate took a dramatic jump. That was all the conformation Matt needed. He clenched his bloody fist and threw it into Connors’ solar plexus, dropping him to the floor at the same time. 

 

It was exactly as he had expected, but the reality of it made Matt sick to his stomach. This man, whom Peter had  _ saved,  _ whom he had  _ trusted _ , was double crossing him in the worst way possible, taking Peter’s blood from when he comes for his help, for  _ first-aid _ .

It was all Matt could do to refrain from hitting the man again. 

 

He took a deep breath, and turned, shoulders high, head low. He’d only made it a few steps when Connors spoke once more.

 

“Daredevil,”

 

Matt stopped, but didn't turn. He was sure that if he did he would either fall over or kick the one-armed guy on the floor. 

 

“Tell Peter I’m sorry.”

 

Matt wanted to laugh, but he was still dizzy from the soap-stuff. He also wanted to punch the wall, but that wouldn’t be very helpful either.

 

Instead he spoke, in barely a whisper, not to Connors, but just into the air. To the world in general.

 

“He deserves better than you.”

 

\---

 

Danny woke to the sound of paper bags and the smell of warm toast. 

 

He simply groaned and rolled over.

 

He had (reluctantly) accepted Matt’s offer the night before. He was tired, he was mildly injured and Matt posed a good argument, so he stayed, telling himself it was to keep an eye on Peter while Matt was out. He hadn't however, accepted the couch. That felt like a step too far.

 

Instead he had searched the closets for a sheet and laid it out by the windows in a well-heated corner. Matt’s apartment had a impressive view, despite most of it being obscured by the intrusive billboard; Danny had no problem falling asleep. 

 

But, back in the present, he was pulled out of his reluctant half-asleep state by the ding of the toaster and the sound of water boiling. 

 

In an impressive show of willpower, he sat up, blinking. He was still in yesterday’s clothes, but his the wound on his shoulder barely stung anymore.  He actually felt surprisingly well rested too, although his ankle still hurt and had definitely swelled.

 

He glanced over at the couch, where Matt slept. He looked stiff, laying perfectly straight with his hands resting on his stomach, poised but tense. Danny supposed he always looked a little like that, but he had assumed that even Matt would while sleeping. 

 

He couldn't help but notice a fresh wrapping of bandages around Matt's right hand.  _ Where had he gone last night? _

 

There was the sound of ceramics hitting tile and a colorful stream of expletives from the kitchen. The voice was not one that Danny had ever heard before.

 

Danny instantly tensed, quickly untangling his legs from the sheet before bringing himself into a standing position, trying to peer over the kitchen counter. He started to creep (limp) towards the voice, trying to run through who it could possibly be. As he rounded the couch he swore a smirk danced across Matt’s features for a moment, but it was probably his imagination. 

 

On the other side of the counter, a man in a cheap suit with blond hair crouched, picking up shards of ceramic mug. He seemed tired, but in a good-natured sort of way, despite his endless cursing. The kind of person who was a mess but always managed to get everything done the right way regardless. 

 

Realizing he wasn't a threat, Danny crouched down and recovered several pieces of mug from where they were scattered on the floor and dropped them in Matt’s trash can.

 

“Thanks.” said the mug-shatterer, looking up, then he did a double take, “Hey, aren't you-”

 

“Danny Rand,” finished Danny, “And you are?”

 

He dropped the ceramic shards in the bin and straightened, composing himself a little and extending a hand. “Franklin Nelson, at your service.”

 

Danny took his hand, “Of Nelson and Murdock?” 

 

“The one and only.” 

 

Danny nodded, now understanding why this guy was in Matt’s apartment.

 

When he had done research on Peter, Danny hadn’t forgotten about Matt. The accomplishments of the Nelson and Murdock firm were impressive, especially considering how new and small they were. Danny didn't know a lot about law, but the takedown of Wilson Fisk was impressive, and though the Frank Castle case had made a dent in the reputation of the firm they had continued to take an impressive number of small civil cases and a good deal of pro-bono work in the aftermath.

 

“What brings a multi-billionaire to this apartment? I know Matt has some weird friends, but man, you're practically a celebrity.”

 

“Uh, well-” 

 

“It's alright,” interrupted Matt, who sat up from the couch, sensing Danny’s predicament, “Foggy knows.” 

 

Danny blinked and looked back at Franklin Nelson, who stood there with a pleasantly expectant smile, “Oh. You're Foggy.” 

 

A nod. And then the lawyer narrowed his eyes at Danny, “And you're the guy that Spider-Man “kidnapped”.”

 

“Well-”

 

Matt slid into one of the chairs at counter, pulling Danny abruptly into the other one. Danny appreciated it; his ankle was starting to ache from putting pressure on it.

 

“Why the hell are you here Foggy?” breathed Matt, exasperated. Foggy feigned being affronted and put his hands on his hips defensively, in the most motherly fashion that Danny had ever seen on a grown man.

 

“Can I not just innocently drop in on my best friend and bring him bagels?”

 

Matt sighed.

 

“You’re here because I said Spider-Man was here.”

 

“Absolutely.” 

 

Just as he said this, the bedroom door opened. Out walked Peter, freshly dressed in some of Matt’s clothes that he managed to make look rumpled anyways, probably because they were several sizes too big. He had some impressive bedhead and dark circles underneath his half-closed eyes. 

 

He’d fallen asleep really early yesterday, and as far, as Danny knew, had slept through the whole night. Guess even super-teenagers will never be morning people. 

 

The kid stood blearily in the doorway for a moment, processing the sunlight and all the people in the kitchen. While he did so, Foggy gasped and turn to Matt. 

 

“Is that-?” 

 

Matt nodded. Foggy, with all the energy of a teenage girl you had just met her lifelong idol, ran up to Peter and started shaking his hand.

 

“Spider-Man! You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to meet you, big fan of your work. And the new suit? Amazing. You actually are a teenager, wow, how do you do it? Saving people and surviving high-school at the same time. Do you really-”

 

“Foggy,” Interrupted Matt. Peter just blinked, and stood there. He kind of nodded and let his hand be shook, mumbling overwhelmed words of thanks but not really keeping up with Foggy’s praise.

 

“Um… 

 

The toaster dinged once more and Foggy scuttled back to the kitchen. Peter made his way more slowly to the counter, apprehensive. The kid had been pretty adamant about protecting his identity before, this was probably pretty jarring to him. The moment he saw Matt’s face however, he stopped in his tracks.

 

“What happened to you?” 

 

Danny followed Peter’s eyes, but he couldn't see anything amiss with Matt’s features. He looked like he always did, glossy eyes and faint dark circles with a semblance of a beard that was simultaneously under-shaven and over-shaven at the same time.

 

Matt, who apparently didn't know what was wrong with his face either, inclined his head slightly and shrugged.

 

“No seriously,” said Peter, stepping closer to get a better look, “Your skin is all discolored, it looks like you had a reaction or something,” then Peter’s gaze fell to the bandaged hand and he narrowed his eyes, “Where did you go yesterday?” 

 

“Wait, wait,” interrupted Danny, staring, “I don't see anything on his skin.”  

 

Peter shook his head and met Matt in a defiant, yet concerned, glare. “You smell like bleach.”

 

Danny glanced between the two, definitely not seeing anything. 

 

“How-?”

 

“Enhanced senses,” breathed Matt easily in explanation. Right, duh. “Relax Peter, I used a new soap last night that made my skin itch; it’s probably that.”

 

“Yeah, sure.” muttered Peter, clearly not convinced, but he let it go as Foggy placed a huge plate of bagels, fully toasted and cream-cheesed, on the counter next to him. 

 

Peter, in happy surprise and definite hunger, quickly asked Foggy with his eyes if those were for him. After a permissive nod in response, Peter pulled himself onto the counter (there were no other chairs in Matt’s kitchen) and dove in. 

 

Danny mostly just stared. “That is… a lot of bagels.”

 

Matt raised his eyebrows, but Foggy just shrugged. “Matt mentioned that Spider-Man had a crazy metabolism.” 

 

Glancing back at the pile of bagels, Danny suddenly realized how hungry he was. Yesterday, though he caught up on sleep, he had quickly proceed to use the fist and the last of his energy at Oscorp. That kind of use takes a lot out of you, and he still didn’t have a handle on replenishing it. 

 

Seeing his look, Peter took initiative and tossed a bagel to Danny, then, for good measure, threw another to Matt. Both men caught their breakfast easily. 

 

Soon Peter was on his fifth bagel and Danny was close behind on his fourth. Matt, after one and a half, had abandoned his for the coffee Foggy had set in front of everyone. Danny was politely ignoring his own cup; he would have much preferred tea and still hadn’t gotten used to the bitter stuff. He’d always liked sweet flavors more anyways, and didn’t understand the appeal. 

 

Breakfast was over faster than Danny would have liked. It was one of those few times of day that you can pretend that everything is okay, that nothing is going wrong, that there isn’t a giant corporation using a child’s blood and feeding the illegal weapons market. It was a nice, bagel-filled escape, and as Matt and Foggy prepared to leave to meet with a client, Danny was reluctant to even stand, and it had nothing to do with his throbbing ankle. Okay, maybe just a little.

 

“And you’ll be okay here?” Matt asked, as Foggy all but dragged him towards the door. He had his dark glasses on, and Danny disliked how inhuman and distant they made him look. It was more unsettling than glazed over eyes that couldn’t find your own, but Matt wore them like armor. Not that he really needed more, than man had more walls than actual insides.

 

Peter made a noise to confirm, somewhere between a hum and a groan. “I’m going to look into this creepy stuff,” he pointed to the black goo which sat innocently shifting in its glass on a shelf, though Danny couldn't recall when it had been placed there, “Figure out what it is, what it does.”

  
“Be safe.”

 

And then there were two.

 

Danny sat for a moment. Peter was pulling apart the walkman-comm device and neatly laying out its pieces, along with a collection of other parts from his backpack, doing something productive, no doubt. It took some willpower, but Danny stood. It was time for him to do something helpful too.

 

“I’m going to leave too, I’ll be back later.” He had expected Peter to protest, or maybe ask him where he was going, but instead the teenager just held out a piece of paper, without even looking up.

 

“Can you pick these things up? I need them to collect data on this thing.”

 

Danny took the paper and left without another word.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait everyone! Life gotta fully in my way for the last while, but worry not, I have NO intentions of abandoning this fic, even if my wait times suggest otherwise. Special thanks to Red Thorn specifically for getting me off my butt and to actually put this out, but also to everyone who commented and hung on for my update, you guys are the reason this exists and you're my motivation. :)   
> I promise to try and make the next gap between chapters much shorter. Hope you enjoyed.


	6. He Was Always An Icarus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It starts with some calling, then some stalling, and then there's a good deal of falling. Let hope he can make it back up.

Usually Saturday mornings involved a lot more sleep and a lot less evil blood goo than this.

 

Peter had done what he could with just the stuff in his bag and the Roxxon laptop (safely firewalled with a piece of duct tape over the camera, just in case), but there was only so much possible with the proper parts, or the proper tools, or the proper knowledge of tech-building, instead of his amateur understanding of it. Even once Danny got back with the stuff, the best he could do was take some basic biometrics, maybe test some responses, attempt to breakdown the black stuff’s - the symbiote’s - genetic makeup. Was it even really alive? 

 

Peter shuddered. This thing was made up of him, at least a little, so it had to count as alive right? He couldn’t really decide which was worse.

 

He was on the wall, crouched, feet flat to the paint, head towards the floor. Ever since the bite he’d always felt more level-headed upside-down. The blood in his head made him focused, calm, and having to keep his muscles tensed just so satisfied the part of him that needed to be constantly tacitly engaged. Supposedly this should help him concentrate on his English homework. it wasn’t really working

 

Every three words he wrote Peter found his eyes back at the symbiote, squishing innocently around in its glass cage. It seemed to get excited when he gave it attention, moved around more. Maybe it was his imagination. He placed his pencil back on the paper.

 

_ Raskolnikov’s crime at the beginning of the novel is described with only negativity and near-purposelessness, so the reader sees his action as as selfish and manic, as he does himself, but in the epilogue we learn of a deeper kindness to him, and we no longer doubt that his crime was for the good of- _

 

Suddenly every hair on Peter’s body stood on end as the symbiote slammed itself against glass, right in his direction. His head shot up and pencil dropped from his hand.

 

It threw itself against the glass again, with more force this time, tilting the capsule up slightly. Peter shot a web at it, effectively trapping it to the counter, and didn’t breathe until it tried again and couldn’t shift the container against the webbing. 

 

So much for English homework. 

 

He let the papers fall to the floor to join his pencil. Homework and superheroes never really mix well anyways.

 

Peter pulled out his phone, and after a rousing round of candy crush he found himself back at the place he always ended up and never intended to go. His text messages to Happy Hogan.

 

It was a useless endeavor really, a very one sided deal that made him feel more and more powerless with every scroll upwards, but at the same time it was one he engaged with determined optimism. 

 

It was odd that he wouldn’t get a response though, after saying that Roxxon (a company definitely in Mr. Stark’s radar) was doing some very shady and very dangerous things. Maybe they just ignored his messages, maybe they went into a computer archive to sit there forever, maybe the whole contact thing was just meant to make him feel better. 

 

Well it wasn’t working.

 

Peter shook his head and found the call button, pressing the phone to his ear. He went to voicemail again. He’d never not gone to voicemail. 

 

_ Beep. _

 

“Hey, Mr. Stark, it’s me again, Peter Parker, AKA Spider-Man. You haven’t gotten back to me about that Roxxon thing yet, and I kinda think it’s a pretty big deal- not that I can’t handle it! Just you said to report back about this sort of thing and I dunno, I thought this was pretty Ironman-worthy. I’ve followed the trail a little further and found some shady stuff at Oscorp too - I’m like 95% sure they were supplying the weapons - and there’s this creepy black stuff that Norman-Creepy-Osborn made, out of my blood apparently. It’s all squelchy and evil looking, and it might be alive? Like  _ alive  _ alive, not plant alive. But I’ve made some pretty cool super-friends, I don’t think you’d approve. It’s just… it’s nice to have some people watching my back, you know? Maybe you would like them. Anyways, let me know what you think about this, the whole one-sided conversation thing is… getting kinda rough. Bye.”

 

Peter hung up before he could embarrass himself anymore. 

 

He sighed. It wasn’t that he’d expected Tony Stark to pay much mind to him, but he’d thought that something on this scale would warrant his attention, should warrant his attention. He fiddled with his phone case, popping it on and off at the corners. 

 

Ugh, as nice as Matt’s apartment was Peter was starting to feel trapped, especially with that black thing watching him.  Can something without eyes even watch you? 

 

Well, Matt could certainly give the impression, and if he could do that without seeing maybe Peter was right about symbiote following his every move. 

 

He stood and walked down the wall, taking care not to accidentally stick his bare feet to the carpet once he’d gotten to the ground. He’d made that mistake before, and having to explain to Aunt May how two foot-sized sections of carpet had somehow gotten ripped out the floor of his bedroom had not exactly been fun. 

 

The symbiote lurched when he stepped off the wall, then again when he stepped away. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled, and though he knew it was safely webbed down Peter’s Spidey-sense tingled in warning.

 

He needed to get out of here, he decided. Now.

 

He tried to ignore the black goo (emphasis on tried) and made his way to Matt’s bedroom, scooping his mask from the floor on the way. When he’d gotten up this morning the sudden realization that he’d slept in Matt’s bed had been jarring. He didn’t like to inconvenience Matt like that; Peter himself could sleep practically anywhere (the couch, the floor, the ceiling), but Matt’s sensitivities made any place other than his own bed with the fine fabrics and gentle blankets a struggle. If he had been a little more awake last night, Peter would have fought Matt about sleeping here. 

 

Thrown haphazardly into one corner was the bundle that was the main body of his suit, where he’d left it after he’d changed this morning. He was a little hesitant to borrow Matt’s clothes, but coming out in full spider-gear with a stranger in the apartment hadn’t seemed very smart at the time. 

 

He forced himself to put Matt’s clothes is some semblance of a neat pile as he removed them before picking up the loose suit and pulling it on. The moment where he pressed the spider symbol on the chest and the whole thing tightened around his form, sliding around his shoulders and hips, and along each arm and leg, always sent a jolt of adrenaline through his system, and for the first time all morning he truly felt awake, felt  _ alive.  _

 

He pulled the mask on slowly, with a special care and precision he usually reserved for building computers and texting his aunt. Every time he pulled it on was like the first, not the when he’d gotten it in Germany, but before that, when the mask had been his homemade hoodie and goggles. There was the buzz of knowing what this meant, knowing what he was. It almost made up for the bitter parts. Almost. 

 

He returned to the main room, purposely ignoring the shifting mass in the glass capsule, and shoved his homework and few scattered belongings into his bag. Then, without a glance a back, he crawled out through the window. 

 

Matt wouldn’t be back until one, and Danny hadn’t said how long he’d be gone, or even what he was doing, but given the man’s attention span Peter had at least an hour. So, some light web-slinging and crime-stopping vigilante work before lunch? Sounds like a plan. 

 

The moment the cold air touched his suit Peter could feel the tension leave him. He was made for this, web-slinging, witty comments and free falling between buildings, not sitting quietly and writing out uses of ethos logos and pathos. 

 

Now to find something to apply himself to. 

 

Thirteen webs and half a borough later, Peter found exactly what he was looking for: a woman, short and stern, of Asian descent, but most importantly: the three people tailing her. They weren’t exactly subtle about it either. 

 

One was darting between buildings and tailing close on the sidewalk behind her, breathing heavily enough that Peter’s hearing picked up on it from the rooftop where he was perched. The other two were following from an alley parallel to the street, moving quickly and with the precision that defined martial arts but in every way made them stand out from a regular passerby. Not to mention they never stopped watching her, which was overtly suspicious in Peter’s book. So he followed, gingerly gliding along rooftops after them.

 

None of them seemed to have any weapons, as far as he could tell, though they could easily be concealed. The woman herself was holding a grocery bag and kept glancing at her phone. She was clearly distracted and her hands were full, which made her vunerable. And she just turned  a corner that placed her directly between her three tails. Uh oh. 

 

Peter crept over the edge of the roof and positioned himself at the top if the wall. The woman seemed aware one person following her now, though hadn’t shown any indication that she had notice the other two. And… she wasn’t panicking. 

 

In fact she didn’t look the least bit anxious. She didn’t turn around, but calmly placed her phone in her pocket and stopped dead in the middle the alley. 

 

Her stalker, as Peter could now see, was a teenage boy a little older than himself, though a good deal taller. He moved towards her quietly, and Peter aimed a web shooter at his feet. 

 

_ Thwip. _

 

The web landed, sticking his right foot to the pavement, but only as he moved forward on his left and swung at the woman. To Peter’s surprise, she didn’t duck, but instead caught the boy’s fist in her own. The boy himself looked at the webbing holding him down in confusion.

 

“Predictable,” she muttered, twisting the boy’s arm and shoving it backwards at the same time. He stumbled backwards and struggled to regain his balance without the use of one foot. The woman turned and sighed, placing the hand holding her groceries on her hip. 

 

“Really, I expected better.” Then she noticed the webbing on his foot, and glanced around for a moment, but before she found Spider-Man the two others jumped out at her. 

 

Their movements were skilled but uncoordinated, and they managed to land one blow, but only on accident. The woman was easily their superior, and dodged and blocked with a level of martial arts knowledge that remind Peter a little of Danny. Not that he knew many specialists, but Matt’s style of hand-to-hand was much more direct than the balance and slyness of this. However it was his job to protect people, skilled or not.

 

He shot a web at one attacker as she pulled away, sticking her torso to the alley wall. She landed with an “oomph” noise, and tried to pull at the webbing, but only succeeded in sticking her hands to it. He shot web at the first assailant, then another at the last one, and within a minute they were all on the ground. Proud of himself, he sank down the alley on a web, in the classic upside-down crouch Spidey-pose. Okay, maybe it was overkill, but he likes to make an impression.

 

He whistled in appreciation. “Dang lady, you’ve got some skills. You didn’t even let go of your groceries and you managed to take them down.” 

 

Instead of the praise and thanks he expected, he woman rounded on him and pointed a finger accusingly at him, “You!”

 

He recoiled and his eyes went wide. “Me?”

 

“Yes, you! The idiot in the leotard! Look what you did!” She gestured at the three people, no struggling against his webbing. 

 

“Save you?”

 

She let out a breath in exasperation and pushed a sweaty strand of hair out of her eyes. 

 

“Oh, you’re expecting praise are you? You  _ stupid  _ vigilantes and your heroics. Those are my  _ students _ that you just attacked! I teach martial arts, this was an  _ exercise _ !”

 

Peter was taken aback and all the joy and pride that had filled him moments before melted onto the sidewalk. 

 

“Your… students?”

 

“Yes, my students. Now get them out of that stuff!” 

 

He unwound and landed in the alley, feeling his face go red under the mask. Of all the mistake, he had protected a woman from her own students. Thank god Matt wasn’t here to see this.

 

“Oh god, I’m so, so sorry. I’ll, um, get them out, right.”

 

He went to each student and pulled the webbing off them, stumbling over the apologies as he did. The woman watched aggressively, but her students were grinning. 

 

“Are you really the, y’know, _ Spider-man _ ?” Asked one boy, after Peter had pulled the webbing off his feet. He had hair that stuck out in curls in every direction and an abundance of freckles. Peter nodded.

 

“Um, yeah, I am.” 

 

The kid laughed. “That’s amazing, my mom will love this.”

 

“He’s shorter than I expected,” supplied the girl, eyes crinkles in amusement. Peter blushed further and rubbed the back of his neck. She wasn’t wrong, he was shorter than everyone here, except maybe the woman with the grocery bag. 

 

“This is not a joke Cassidy, your form, however, was. You were entirely off balance, and clearly silence is impossible for you, even when tailing someone!”

 

The freckled boy laughed, but then the woman rounded on him and his smile immediately dissipated.

 

“And you! If you’re following someone, at least make sure they can’t see you!” She turned to the last boy, who was already looking at the ground, “and Pedro, I’m not even going to go into everything you did wrong. Get out of here, all of you. I’ll see you at our next lesson, you clearly need it.” 

 

The kids nodded solemnly and gave hurried “Yes Sensei”s before running off back the way they’d come, but not without throwing Spider-man a last glance. One boy even snapped a photo before turning the corner.

 

The woman sighed. She glanced at Peter haphazardly, seemingly surprised that he was still there. 

 

“Yes?”

 

Peter blinked.

 

“Oh, I’ll just- Um… Bye?” 

 

He shot a web and launched himself back onto the rooftops with a tentative wave. This woman, she was intimidating for sure. Powerful, unforgiving, he kind of liked her. 

 

She was interesting too. Not just the crazy skills, but also because instead of turning back the way she had come she turned the corner and headed off in her initial direction.

 

And her grocery bag had the logo of a places on the other side of Manhattan (Leo’s-- good soda, shitty ice cream), back where she had come from. 

 

And maybe it was none of his business what she was doing, he had already interfered quite enough for one day, but it wasn’t like he had anything better to do. Plus something about the way she held herself intrigued him and made his subconscious whirr in a way he didn’t quite understand.

 

And so he followed her. 

 

It was still patrol, technically. He was still watching out for crime and doing his friendly-neighbourhood thing, he was just doing it along the same path that she was traveling. 

 

She didn’t do anything interesting for the next seven minutes either, just glanced at her phone over an over and walk assertively. He was about to let it go and move on when she finally did some that made it all worthwhile: she placed a call. One that went straight to voicemail.

 

“Hi Danny, it’s Colleen and I’m getting really sick of this whole disappearing act. I’ve already been to Rand twice, and they said you stopped by yesterday but they haven’t heard anything else. I know this whole cell-phone-ringer-should-be-on thing is new to you, but you better damn well answer me; I really don’t like not knowing where you are, or if you’ve died or something. And I’m really getting tired of this. Call me back.”

 

Danny… Rand… Now that was something. 

 

Peter lowered himself down on a web once more, into an alley in her path and waited until she reached him.

 

“So you know Danny?”

 

Colleen jumped and turned to him, fists clenched.

 

“Are you following me?” 

 

Spider-Man considered this for a moment.

 

“It’s not really following, more like observing from a distance.”

 

Colleen glanced around the street and ducked into the alley with him.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“I know him, Danny. You know, famous millionaire with the-“ he made a fist with one hand and pantomimed it glowing with the other. “I know where he is.” 

 

Colleen tensed and pressed on his chest until his back was against the wall. He released the webbing and stuck his hands and feet to the concrete to compensate.

 

“You do?”

 

“Well, I don’t know actually where he is at this exact moment per say, but I do know where he’ll be in like an hour, tops.”

 

She pressed him further into the wall. He could tell she was restraining herself. As someone who had to hold back his strength constantly, he could recognize it in someone else. Not that it made her less intimidating.

 

“Where?”

 

He fidgeted a little under her hand.

 

“That’s- kind of confidential actually. Like, I would tell you, but it would compromise a friend’s safety and I can’t exactly do that.”

 

She sighed and released him, shifting her grocery bag to her other hand, but the pressure of her stare kept him in place. 

 

“Fine, whatever. But when you see him, tell him to call Colleen.”

 

Peter nodded quietly. And Colleen took a step back, she didn’t move for a moment and neither did he. When she looked at him again her expression had softened into something much kinder. 

 

“I’ve seen you fight, you know,” she started, more gentle than before, “On YouTube. You’re strong and fast, I’ll give you that, but you lack coordination. You could do with a teacher.”

 

“I already have a teacher,” Spider-man huffed.

 

“Clearly one who doesn’t know what he’s doing.” 

 

She might be right, he realized. Matt was incredibly capable, sure, but his skill set was very specific to himself, and though he had helped Peter a lot, the man clearly struggled with the teaching role. He liked casual and straightforward, and so much of what he did defied explanation that he struggled to patiently teach it. Maybe Peter was putting too much on him, expecting training in some form. Matt had offered, but-

 

“And if I say yes?”

 

“I’d say come by my dojo; any time will do, I’m usually there.” She offered a card. It wasn’t sleek and crisp like Danny’s, but on tiny and on regular paper that had crumbled slightly in Colleen’s pocket. It still had the dashed cut out lines on the edges. He accepted it immediately.

 

“And my mask, will you care if I leave it on? Too many people know my identity already.”

 

Colleen shrugged and gave a sort of half-smile. “Mask or no mask, you’re a kid in need of training. Why should I care either way?”

 

She gave a half was and started out of the alley. When Peter called out “I can’t pay you.”

 

She shrugged once more.

 

“Danny can.”

 

—- 

 

One of the best and worst parts about being blind was that you never had to do a lot of paperwork

 

Foggy (thank god for him), dealt with most of the nonsense complicated paperwork that came through their office for him. Matt tried to compensate for it in other ways, but always reminded Foggy how thankful he was. 

 

There came times though, that his signature was needed. Those were the worst. 

 

It always meant someone guiding his hand to a line that he couldn’t find himself, and then he had t focus on carefully writing a signature that he couldn’t read and had evolved into more of a series of lines than his name, and try to make sure it stayed on a line he couldn’t see. 

 

He hardly ever felt as helpless.

 

Foggy assured him that his signature was not only legible but very neat and formal. And sure, if he really put himself to it Matt could  _ feel _ the words on the paper, the difference between the ink and the dry fibers. He wasn’t even sure if he would understand it anymore though. His first thought at the letter ‘A’ was not a partial triangle with a line through it, but a top left corner dot on the top of his finger.

 

He’d lost the conventional alphabet when he’d lost his eyes, and now it was as foreign to him as Punjabi. 

 

And so, he was carefully guided through paperwork by a very kind and patient secretary, the entire time cursing himself for his inability to remember how to hold a pen properly.

 

The case had gone surprisingly well. Wrongful conviction of a local hero, everything was very cut and dry and this was the very last of it. The man was already on his way home, leaving Foggy and Matt to clear up the last details.

 

He finished signing the documents and thanked the secretary, giving her what he hoped was a charming smile. And tapped his cane around until he was standing next to Foggy. 

 

“Ready?”

 

There was a rustle of papers as Foggy closed up his suitcase and filed away things in the appropriate places, then the sound of him standing and handing the secretary his own documents.

 

“Now I am, let’s go.” 

 

Out of habit more than necessity Foggy hooked his arm through Matt’s to lead him out of the building. He could’ve been just fine on his own, but the action meant he could be a little less attentive and a little more at ease, something he desperately needed after being hand-held throughout the entirety of what should be a natural legal process. He took a deep breath. 

 

“Lunch?” Foggy asked as they stepped through the door. 

 

“It’s nearly 4 o’clock.”

 

“Linner then?”

 

Matt sighed. “I’ve got to get back to the apartment before Peter does something stupid, or explodes or something. Another time.”

 

Foggy nodded patiently and hailed a cab.

 

“Another time,” he agreed.

 

He opened the door for Matt and waited for him to step inside. “We did good today.”

 

Matt considered this for a moment. “Yeah, we did.”

 

“Well, good luck Murdock, you’ll need it with that one.”

 

Matt smiled. “Thanks Foggy.”

 

And then the door was closed and he was on his way.

 

The drive gave him enough time to think about his situation and make some important calls, but not enough to prepare him for what happened when he into his apartment.

 

The first thing he noticed was that the place was empty. Well, empty aside from the shifting symbiote, which seemed to excite at his presence. He rushed to his bedroom, feeling the corners of the room until he found- his clothes. That Peter had been wearing. And no suit. 

 

He sighed in frustration and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

 

Danny wasn’t here either, which meant the two of them had probably right now off on another crazy stunt. Something that will get them both killed no doubt.

 

He found a small pile of half-assembled parts where his coffee table used to be, which he could only was the scanner and bio-tester that Peter was building. And as he moved toward the kitchen he nearly slipped on two papers and a pencil at the base of the wall, next to Peter’s backpack. 

 

On the capsule holding the symbiote he could smell the remains of Peter’s web solution, and the fact that the webbing was practically liquid and mostly dissipated at this point implied that it’d been there for at least an hour. 

 

God damn. 

 

“Call Peter,” he told his phone angrily.

 

“ _ Calling Peter Parker.” _

 

A ring, two rings, and then:

 

“ _ Hi, it’s Peter’s phone, leave a mess-“ _

 

Matt pressed the power button hard before the recording could finish. He considered calling Danny too, but he realized he didn’t have the man’s phone number. He should fix that.

 

Thankfully, before Matt could stress too much a certain hummingbird heartbeat got within his hearing range and within minutes a teenager smelling of web fluid and high school angst was crawling through his window.

 

“Matt! You’re back!” 

 

There wasn’t any guilt in his voice, only surprise and a bit of joy; nothing bad had happened. Still, going out during a time like this, when the head of a gigantic corporation is pissed at you, not to mention all the shady going-ons with Roxxon— at least a text would’ve been nice. Matt straightened the dark glasses on his nose and crossed his arms.

 

“I see you are too.”

 

Peter laughed sheepishly. From what Matt could tell, he hadn’t done anything strenuous. There wasn’t enough sweat or muscle tension, but the kid was on an adrenaline high anyways, from his good mood and bounciness. Maybe it was just from web slinging. Peter was never one to sit still for too long, it made him anxious. Going out had probably done him some good, at least mentally.

 

“Where’s Danny?” 

 

Peter glanced around, as if only now noticing the missing presence. 

 

“I don’t know, but I thought he’d be back by now.”

 

Matt sighed. Keep track of one high strung Ohio’s, lose the other. 

 

He took a step back to move towards the kitchen, or, more specifically, the coffee maker. He was going to need some to get through the rest of the day, and sort out all-

 

Suddenly Peter was calling his name in warning (when the kid with a danger sense warns you, you listen) and his feet were coming out from under him and his senses all turned sideways. His balance was jolted but he could keep his feet planted, as if something was causing them to slid on the tile. He stuck an arm out to catch himself of the counter- that as a mistake. 

 

His arm his glass and marble, and he manage to catch himself partially by gripping the edge, help up the rest of the way by a split-second web that was attached and taut against his chest. No relief though, because behind him there was something falling towards the ground, something glass and dangerous.

 

Peter launched himself up and over the counter, releasing the webbing attached to Matt and raising a hand to try and catch the falling capsule. It didn’t work. 

 

There was a crash as the glass hit tile, ands mallet noise as Peter stumbled to catch himself. 

 

The container was shattered, Matt could tell that much. He could hear the shards fragment across the whole kitchen, but he was sure just a small crack would be just as dangerous. He would be right.

 

For a moment the symbiote didn’t move, just sat in a quiet sludgy heap in the middle of Matt’s kitchen. During that moment Matt righted himself and focused, and Peter stuck a hand out to grab a bowl from Matt’s cupboard. That movement, that set it off, because a moment later it was launching at Peter with a trajectory that shouldn’t be possible for something if it’s size. 

 

Peter jumped back onto the wall and launched a web at it while Matt rushed around the corner of the counter, trying to follow the movement. It wasn’t an easy task.

 

The moment Peter landed on a new surface the symbiote launched itself after him, meaning the two were darting across the ceiling at impossible speeds and Peter tried desperately to web it down, but his main form of attack seemed to have no effect whatsoever. 

 

Matt felt around for something to throw at it; he couldn’t just do  _ nothing. _ A knife could hurt Peter- maybe a spatula. 

 

His foot tapped something as he moved into the kitchen and he knelt to grab it. A pencil pouch - Peter’s, in all likelihood. Next to it was some scattered papers and a pen.

 

Peter’s homework.

 

That he had found earlier. That hadn’t moved. 

 

That he’d tripped on because he couldn’t sense inanimate objects. 

 

He cursed under his breath and gripped the pencil case, it would have to do. 

 

He straightened and chucked it directly at where he thought the symbiote should be. By the squelching noise, he must’ve hit. Peter land next to him, panting. 

 

“You hit it,” he managed, sounding surprise. 

 

Matt nodded. “What’s it doing now?”

 

“I don’t know, it just...stopped. Like it’s still on the wall, but it’s not moving. Matt I don’t-“

 

Matt placed a hand on the teenager’s shoulder in reassurance. What they’d just experienced was not a normal act of biology, or a normal act of science-altered biology. And if this thing was built of Peter...

 

“It’s okay,” he stated clearly, then he gave what he hoped was a confident and reassuring smile, “Web it up, Spider-Man.”

 

Peter nodded, lenses whirring, and suddenly the air was filled with a flurry of artificial spider-silk. The symbiote didn’t move at all, from what Matt could tell, simply allowing itself to be captured. One little hit couldn’t of hurt it that much, right?

 

Soon it was entirely encased and Matt pulled a large glass. bowl out of a cabinet. The pair of vigilantes started forward, taking slow and calculated steps. Matt slower than Peter, but out of hesitancy and patience. Peter was overflowing with anxious and excited energy, barely containing himself to careful walking. 

 

As they drew closer Matt couldn’t hear anything from inside the webbing. Literally nothing. Not a shift, not a breath, not a beat. Next to him was a very heightened heartbeat (teenager+super enhancements+stress), quick breaths, the whirr of eyepieces and the low hum of Starktech. He could hear every tense muscle, every flutter of eyelids and anxious swallow. He could sense that Peter hadn’t eaten since breakfast, that he’d messed with computer parts earlier, that he hadn’t been to his house and that he’d done some homework in pen. But in front of him- in front of him was nothing. 

 

A void. 

 

A dark hole in his world on fire.

 

Matt didn’t like it. 

 

Peter didn’t seem to like it either. 

 

Once they were within a few feet Matt handed the bowl to Peter. Daredevil can’t climb walls, and the creature was too high up for him to reach from the floor. Peter himself swallowed and took it, stepping carefully onto the window and then climbing onwards in his spidery delicate way, bowl tucked under one arm. The creature - if you could call it that - still hadn’t moved, and Peter lifted the bowl above it, ready to capture it like you capture a bee with a cup and slip of paper. He brought it slowly and gently down of the pile of webbing.

 

Then it exploded. 

 

Not in a bomb kind of explody way, but definitely an explosion. 

 

The webbing ripped away and went in all directions as the symbiote burst around the corner of the bowl and right at Peter. It happened too quickly for Matt to process and suddenly Peter was falling off the wall, the thing clinging to his face and hands as he let out a muffled scream. 

 

Matt rushed forward and tried to get his hands on it, pull it off,  _ something.  _ He could hear Peter’s chest heaving as his airways clogged and his frantic heartbeat slowly being muffled and the thing encased him, growing, impossibly, and wrapping around his body. The bowl shattered against the ground a little ways away.

 

Every time Matt thought he had some of it in his grasp it managed to slip right out again. It was like sentient oil, but thicker and malicious, engulfing and growing around Peter in something like desperation. Peter struggled under it, but the more Matt tried the more he realized he couldn’t do a thing. 

 

Then it had entirely covered the boy’s arm, an arm which was quickly swinging itself at Matt’s face, and with the full force and speed of Peter’s abilities and the symbiote on top of that, he couldn’t dodge in time. Pain explodes across his cheek and his neck was wrenched sideways as he was forced backwards, his glasses flying off with the impact. He’d been hit by Peter before, but the kid always used restraint and without it… damn did it hurt. 

 

The kid himself was not going to go quietly however. 

 

Somehow, admits the suffocating and engulfing Peter managed to throw his unrestrained arm to the side and get his hand around one of the shards of glass. He then raised it and drove it into his other arm, right directly into the symbiote. 

 

It did absolutely nothing. The glass just sat there in his arm for a moment as Peter heaved and struggled but within seconds he was entirely covered in the substance and Matt could only just make out his heartbeat- frantic, and fading. He rushed forward as the thing raised Peter’s hand and pulled the glass out. 

 

He made to punch it but the symbiote caught his arm easily, almost casually, and twisted it back experimentally, pressing bruises into his wrist and causing him to cry out in pain. 

 

“Peter!”

 

This caused the creature to stop. It just paused and turned to look at him. Then it’s - Peter’s - hands were on his throat and he couldn’t breath and his back was pressed into the wall. It was a strength he’d never felt before, and as much as he pulled at it and struggled he couldn’t do anything but gasp for air that wouldn’t make it down his throat. 

 

Then it spoke. Using Peter’s vocal chords, Matt could tell. But the voice that came out sounded nothing like Peter’s, it was deep, raspy, and unsteady. Like something that was speaking for the very first time. 

 

“ _ Nnnot Pe-ter,” _ it managed, bringing it face close to Matt’s. It was breathing, now that it had Peter’s lungs, and the air fell hot and sticky on Matt face. “ _ Vennnom. I- am- Venom.”  _

 

_ “Please _ ,” Matt gasped, barely forming the word as his head grew light and his heart hammered in his chest.

 

The hand released from his throat a moment later, and Venom - along with Peter - burst through the window just as Matt slipped into unconsciousness. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you faithful readers! It is those kudos and comments that keep me going and keep this happening, so that you all for your support! :)  
> I hope you enjoyed having Colleen in there. I felt like we were a bit lax on the badass females in this fic, so I tossed her in and we'll being seeing some more of our favorites very soon, as well as some other characters who have yet to make a real appearance, so look forward to that.   
> And I'm not too sure if my take on Venom is super within canon, but I've strayed far enough from that already that I doubt it matters, I think I have some really interesting stuff for him, so be prepared.  
> Thank you for reading, and I look forward to you feedback as always, I'll try to be expedient about the next chapter. Also sorry for the typos, I know they are incredibly abundant.


	7. Identity Crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe some clues, a bit of pain and definitely confusion. Enjoy.

While a certain blond-haired billionaire was breaking through the top floors of the Oscorp building, Jessica Jones was on the elevator headed downwards, about twenty floors from the bottom. She felt the tremor, sure, but she decidedly ignored it and strode out of the building as if the emergency alarm wasn’t flashing and people weren’t rushing around in panic.

 

It was Oscorp’s damn fault, they could deal with their own issues and she refused to intervene. She’d gotten into enough trouble to know when she should walk away.

 

From the outside you could barely tell the damage. Well, aside from the dust billowing out of the shattered windows and a few structural cracks. Honestly, there was nothing she could do; it wasn’t her problem.

 

Was not her problem.

 

Jessica stopped moving and the wave of people rushing out billowed around her. Most didn’t pay her a second glance. The press was gathering, and she could hear sirens in the distance, but as  she bumped elbows an intern she turned to focus solely on the building. She had to squint to see properly, because the sky was light and it reflected easily off the building’s glass exterior. The shaking was probably just a lab issue, something blew up that shouldn’t have. It didn’t seem in danger of falling or doing further damage, but whatever happened on the inside could’ve injured someone, or multiple someones. Lab techs could be trapped in rubble up there or something.

 

Then she caught a glimpse of something darkly colored and human shaped thrown out a window. She tried to push forward to see it better, but before she could move a flicker of red and blue shot through the air and caught it. Then the pair launched away from the scene and towards deep Manhattan. 

 

Well, if another vigilante thinks it’s handled, surely her involvement wouldn’t be worthwhile.  _ A  _ vigilante, not another vigilante. Jessica wasn’t one, not in the slightest. 

 

And so she’d left. With a small amount of dignity and an aching for alcohol. 

 

A little over a day later and she was still questioning if she should have intervened. The news had said that no one had died, but a few employees were injured. Some kind of lab accident, apparently, but that sounded like a load of bull. But Jessica was not trying to figure it out, she had a case, that she hadn’t made any progress on and was currently pouring whiskey into her third cup of coffee. She also has a headache, and a few missed phone calls from Trish. This is what some might call a “low”.

 

Then her door swings open she feels like throwing something. 

 

That’s the paradox of her job really; an opening door means a customer and money, but it also means facing a real human being and pretending to care about the nonsense affair they think their spouse is having. It’s almost noon but Jessica wasn’t ready for this yet. Give her one, maybe two more hours. Or a week. 

 

But the door opened nonetheless and she doesn’t bother moving her feet off the desk. The illusion of professionalism is basically lost upon entering her “office space” anyhow. 

 

The person that comes through the door was not anything like what she had expected however. In fact, she recognized him. 

 

“Nathaniel Radonski,” she said by way of greeting, casually, as if she’d known he would come. Actually she had hoped to never see him again, but the universe is rarely so kind.

 

“Actually it’s-”

 

“Danny Rand? Yeah, I’m well aware.” Jessica had taken the liberty to look into the man she’d met in the elevator after she thought she saw him get thrown from a window. The surprised look on his face gave her all the confirmation she needed. 

 

Danny, for his part, gently closed the door behind him and and limped slightly as he made his way to the seat opposite Jessica. He looked better, she had to admit, without the intense suit and tie. Instead of gel his hair was free falling in yellow curls and his neat, almost hipster-esque look was much more gentle and unobtrusive, especially without the glasses. Basically he didn’t look like an asshole anymore. 

 

“I need to talk to you,” he started. He sat leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and with an intent look in his eye, just like she’d seen in the elevator. 

 

“Clearly.” 

 

He took a breath, probably trying to steady his thoughts. “I don’t know what you were investigating at Oscorp, but I need to see everything you dug up, especially if it concerns weapon manufacturing and,” he paused, searching for the words for a moment, “genetic reconstruction.”

 

Jessica looked him over. He seemed earnest and ingenuous, but he definitely wasn’t telling her any details, which she quickly picked up on. Jessica never did anything for free, but moreover, she never did anything without knowing exactly why.

 

“And why should I help you?”

 

“I can’t tell you very much, Miss Jones-”

 

“Jessica,” she interrupted. None of that Miss Jones crap, formality is a brutalization of human interaction. Jessica preferred to cut right to the point.

 

“Jessica,” he corrected, “but it involves something that could potentially hurt people and a shocking amount of corruption that-“

 

“No.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“I can’t help you.” 

 

Danny stood up, ready to argue, but too quickly apparently, judging by his wince as he put pressure on his ankle. He ignored it and rounded on her. Jessica didn’t blink.

 

“Why?!” His voice had risen half an octave and he had this kind of breathless urgency to him. Jessica looked him dead in the eyes.

 

“You, a huge billionaire shareholder of Rand industries are asking my help in getting information about the inner workings of one of your biggest competitors - whose building, I might add, you snuck into and possibly severely damaged yesterday - without telling me anything about your intentions on what to do with this information, if I do have it, and you expect me to just hand it over? I’m not a pushover, Danny Rand, don’t even try. The door is behind you, please close it on your way out.”

 

Danny blinked at her for a moment. In case he hadn’t understood what she meant, she pointed to the exit. 

 

“I’m not trying to bring down Oscorp to further my own company,” he said quietly. Jessica lowered her finger.

 

“Yeah? Why are you then?”

 

He swallowed and eased back into the chair. “Oscorp hurt someone I care about, a kid, and if I don’t find out enough to bring down Norman Osborn he will continue to hurt people, the kid included. I don’t know all the details, but I have reason to believe that Oscorp has been manufacturing dangerous weapons and messing with genes that they shouldn’t be anywhere near. And,” he took a deep breath, “I think Osborn’s son is in danger.” 

 

Jessica considered this.  _ If _ Danny was telling the truth, all his tentativeness and the sneaking in would kind of make sense. Anyways, if he’s been trying to dig up dirt on the company he wouldn’t have gone himself, that would be too obvious. However-

 

“Why did you blow up the building then?”

 

Danny looked at her sheepishly. Now, a violent attacker would not feel embarrassed about doing exactly what they’d intended to, they’d be proud. And from what Jessica could tell Danny was not a very good actor.

 

“Osborn attacked us, I did what I had to. I would’ve avoided it if I could have.” 

 

“Us? You and Bug-tights?”

 

Danny gave her a confused look, then realized what she meant. “Spiders aren’t bugs.”

 

“Same difference. How does he play into all this? I’m not giving you anything unless I get the full story.” 

 

He rubbed his palms together and looked at the floor for a moment. Jessica waited. 

 

“The genes that Osborn messed with, they were his.”

 

Jessica took her feet off the table. She didn’t know a whole lot about Spider-Man, but she did know that he could lift a bus, climb on walls and take down criminals with surprising efficiency. She didn’t know if her was a mutant or genetic experiment or what, but that DNA in the wrong hands could mean a number of bad things.  

 

“How did he mess with them?”

 

Danny grimaced. “I don’t really know. We have it, whatever it is. This black sludge that moves around and pounds against the glass when Spider-Man is too close. We haven’t analyzed it enough yet, but it could be literally anything. We don’t even know if this is all that Osborn did with his blood.”

 

Jessica soaked this in for a moment. She was certain he was telling the truth at this point, all that’s left was judging his trustworthiness, how helpful he might be to her case, and how much her intel could actually help him. She sighed. 

 

“Okay, Danny Rand, I’ll buy it.” 

 

He glanced up at her hopefully.

 

“I’ll share what I have, but on several conditions: one,” she held up a finger, “you have to share everything you uncover about Oscorp and this mysterious sludge, whether you think it’s relevant or not,” Danny nodded and she held up a second finger, “two, you can not act on anything you discover without talking to me first,” another nod, another finger, “and three, you can’t disclose anything I tell you to anyone else or I will personally hunt you down and make your life miserable.”

 

“What about-“

 

“Yes, you can tell your Spider-guy, it’s his problem too. But no one else,” she threatened. He nodded immediately.

 

“Deal.”

 

After returning the gesture, Jessica pulled out her laptop, talking as she started it up. This was risk and she knew it, but her gut was telling her it was the way to go and even if she didn’t trust people she could always rely on her instincts. She placed a folder in front of Danny without looking up.

 

“Frank Cabrero, biomedical engineer employed at Oscorp for over seven years, died a week ago in a lab acci-“

 

Danny opened the folder and immediately his cheeks flushed a brilliant vermillion. Jessica cut herself off and glanced at him.

 

“What?” she asked, annoyance crisping the edge of her voice. He was averting his eyes from the folder, but why would- Oh. That would do it. 

 

“Grow up,” muttered Jessica, grabbing back the Anderson affair file with a put-on air of indifference. Mistake on her part, but this was a grown man in front of her. He should be able to handle photos people having sex. 

 

She handed him the proper file and continued her explanation as if she hadn’t been interrupted.

 

“Cabrero died last week in a lab accident. He was working on a “personal project” for Osborn and was on the verge of breakthrough. According to his wife it was the most exciting thing for his career in years. According to the official report, Cabrero made a procedure error that resulted in the noxious fumes that killed him.”

 

“But you don’t think that’s what happened?”

  
Jessica nodded. “Neither does his wife. The man was completely OCD, believe me, I’ve seen his lab. Everything is labeled and organized with precision, the man was the last person to make a procedure error.”

 

Danny glanced over the file, then up at her. “But that’s not all, is it?”

Smart than he looks, apparently.

 

“The night before he died he told his wife that he was quitting the project. He wouldn’t tell her why but according to her he looked terrified. That brings me to this.”

 

She spun her computer around to face him and pointed to the thumb drive in it’s slot. The screen scrolled with code. 

 

“I pulled this off of the computer in his lab. It’s encrypted to a degree that I can’t get through it with any of my tools. I think it will tell us why Cabrero quit, and what Osborn was working on.”

 

Danny glanced at the screen and immediately said, “I can’t do anything about that.”

 

She sighed and moved to turn laptop back around, but Danny wasn’t finished yet.

 

“But I think know someone who can.”

 

She considered this for a moment. Jessica had no resources for this kind of thing, only a few decryption devices that had failed to work on something this complicated and professional. This could be the break in the case that she needed. 

 

“Who?”

 

“Spider-Man,” replied Danny, completely seriously.

 

Jessica scoffed. “So what, he can climb on walls and hack what is possibly the highest quality code in existence?”

 

“Yeah. At least, I think so.”

 

Needless to say, Jessica was impressed and her interest was piqued. She’d never wanted to get caught up in that superhero nonsense before, but now she want to meet the guy.

 

“Bring him here.”

 

“Here?”

 

“Yes, here. I’ll give him his shot but he’s doing under my supervision. I’m not about to let you to run off with what could be the key information to proving Oscorp corrupt. Cabrero needs justice.”

 

Danny nodded without resistance. 

 

“I’ll have him back here as soon as possible. Thanks for your help, Jessica. Really.” He pushed a business card across the table and stood.

 

“Call me, if there’s an issue before I’m back. And call that second number for my secretary, she’ll make sure your reimbursed for your help.”

 

Jessica grunted, maintaining a straight face as he carefully shut the door behind him. She didn’t smirk until she could hear his footsteps reach the other end of the hall.

 

Maybe today would actually work out in her favor, assuming this Spider-Guy was all he cracked up to be.

 

—

 

Peter was drowning. 

 

Waves of something thick and heavy crashed over his body endlessly, a tumult of suffocation and pressure. It crushed him from all sides, inside and out.

 

He couldn’t move. 

 

Actually, he was moving, but he wasn’t moving himself. 

 

The same with breathing. In theory oxygen was filling his lungs with every sparse and raspy breath, but he wasn’t the cause of this. His muscles strained against the foreign impulse, making it feel like he hadn’t breathed at all. Maybe he hadn’t.

 

His shoulder hurt. Everything hurt actually, but his shoulder was a specific pain, injured in the way that it would probably have been fine if the black ocean around him wasn’t forcing it to move. The way his muscles stretched and the pain flickered on and off reminded him of web-slinging, sans the freedom. He made a weak attempt to open his eyes, but either he could only see darkness or he hadn’t managed to.

 

Peter imagined this was what waterboarding felt like; suffocating, strenuous, helpless. Drowning while knowing you aren’t, because the water’s caught in your throat, not your lungs, but your body thinks it’s dying anyways. Maybe he was dying. He couldn’t really tell. 

 

Waterboarding didn’t include a voice in your head though, so maybe Peter would prefer it to this. That was definitely the worst part, was the voice, like he was drowning in the thing’s thoughts. Venom’s voice apparently, though it was almost worst when the thing had a name. It wasn’t very complicated, but the three awful raspy things it said jarred Peter to the core every time he heard them. 

 

_ Food _ . 

 

_ Fight.  _

 

And the worst one:

 

_ Father. _

 

Peter did not want to know what that one meant. He want to sleep. He wanted to curl up with a mug of Aunt May’s cocoa and rewatch the new Star-Wars with Ned. He wanted to not hurt. He wanted his mind to be his own and his alone.

 

It was useless though. He couldn’t resist the force on his muscles and remaining energy was being ripped from his body every moment. He couldn’t win. He’d brought a lemon to a knife fight, a fight that he was currently losing and hadn’t wanted to start in the first place. 

 

He didn’t know where he was. He didn't know what he was. If he strained he could hear something that sounded like traffic and radio music— jazz. Maybe that was just his imagination.

 

He’s heard stories

 

He didn’t really feel like Spider-Man anymore, that personality had been sucked out of him with all his energy and air. Spider-Man would keep fighting, wouldn’t scream, would work through the pain. Would probably shrug it off with a joke and laugh. He wouldn’t give in, and he wouldn’t give up. 

 

Peter Parker was just about ready to give up.

 

But salvation came, as it often does, in the form of two words. Two words that Peter somehow managed to hear above the chaos around him.

 

“Sweet Christmas!”

 

—

 

Danny meditated on the car ride back. He needed to revitalize his fist, calm his thoughts, maybe put some effort into helping his ankle.

 

He melted the taxi into a crisp cliff-side and he settled his energy deep in his chest, deep in his palm. The car ride went by in the blink of an eye and before he knew it the cabbie was nudging his leg and asking for a tip.

 

He stepped onto the sidewalk with a new focus and Peter’s requested parts in hand, newly awake and sans the limp. He’d possibly gotten the information they needed to solve all their problems and he’d barely been gone two hours. 

 

But when he knocked on the door to Matt’s apartment no one answered. That cut a frown through his good mood instantly. 

 

Danny tried the handle and found it unlocked. Abad sign; so far as he’d seen, Matt was pretty anal on basic security precautions. 

 

He assumed a defensive stance and slipped through the door. 

 

The living room was cold and a breeze rustled Danny’s hair and shifted some papers that were strewn across the kitchen floor, but other than that everything was dead silent and motionless. The place was a wreck. There was glass everywhere, absolutely everywhere. It covered the kitchen, tracked into the living room and under the window-  _ the window. _

 

Danny dropped his defense and his bag of parts, rushing forward. Underneath the broken window was Matt, sat slumped against the wall. Dark and blotchy bruising was forming on his neck and wrapped around his cheek, making one closed eye darker that the other. He had one knee up and leaning slightly to the side, while the other fell out in front of him. His mouth was slightly parted and his breathing raspy and deep. Completely unconscious.

 

“Matt!”

 

Danny was beside him in an instant and knelt despite the glass against his knees. Matt didn’t respond to his touch, but he was definitely breathing and definitely had a pulse. Danny glanced around for Peter. 

 

He did not find him. He did find a lot of webs strung across the ceiling, but that meant little other than a fight, but with who? Did Osborn send someone?

 

Then he saw it. Or rather, the lack of it. The capsule holding the symbiote was gone, with only glass fragments across the kitchen floor proving it had ever been there. He couldn’t find any trace of black in the whole apartment. And, even after double checking, Peter was nowhere to be seen.

 

Matt stirred in his arms, resisting his support and scrunching up his eyebrows in pain. Danny turned back to him instantly.

 

“Matt!”

 

The man did not respond, only groaned. His eyes fluttered open, but Danny only took that to mean he was waking up. It was really hard to tell how focused a blind man was, but Matt’s glassy eyes moved around like he was trying to gain his bearings. He probably was, only with his working senses. Danny briefly wondered if Matt knew that his eyes did that.

 

“Danny,” he grunted, seemingly a little more conscious. He pushed Danny away and leaned his back against the wall, he was clearly in pain. 

 

“What happened? Where’s Peter?”

 

Matt kind of blinked in his direction for a moment before leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed.

 

“He’s gone,” he said quietly. His voices was edged with guilt and pain and sounded a bit like he was speaking through gravel. 

 

“How?! Why?!”

 

“It took him.”

 

“It?” Then Danny put the pieces together. “The symbiote?!”

 

Matt nodded. Matt didn’t nod very often. He practically spat his next word.

 

“ _ Venom _ .”

 

“Venom?”

 

Matt nodded again, then gave a weak raspy cough. Danny shook his head and decided the explanation could wait; he needed to know what was going on, but had to make sure Matt was okay first.

 

“I’m going to take you to the couch, okay?” Matt nodded minutely, and Danny helped him up. This was the second time he’d helped the man walk injured, and just like the first Matt was resistant even in his complacency. He leaned away, stubbornly tried to do most of the work himself. Self-righteously indignant. He even sat upright once he was on the couch, though Danny was sure lying horizontal would make his breathing easier. He didn’t say anything though.

 

Danny left him there momentary and went to find a glass of water and maybe some pain meds. He was glad his shoes were thick-soled, because each step through the kitchen was punctuated by the crunch of glass against tile. He found a cup easily and filled it from the tap, but when he reached for a pain killers in the cupboard Matt let out a distinct and pained “No”. 

 

Danny looked back, hand hovering over the pill bottle. Matt didn’t shift from his position on the couch, face away from Danny. He answered Danny’s question without him even having to ask.

 

“They’ll jeopardize my senses. I won’t be any help to Peter.” 

 

Danny considered this. He understood pain meds throwing things off, loosening his connection to his energy and his focus. He supposed it must be similar for Matt, except that his powers were directly tied to his ability to navigate normally. Danny grabbed the bottle anyways and moved back to the couch. 

  
He was completely on edge, and every part of him screamed to run across the town and search rooftops to find Peter, but he knew that the most productive thing would be to stay here and help Matt. And if he was going to help him, he was gonna do it right.

 

“He wouldn’t want you suffering though. You can at least take a little.”

 

Matt grunted, a little resistant, a little resigned. He swallowed the pills without another word. 

 

Then he explained what happened.

 

Slowly. 

 

Guiltily. 

 

Painfully. 

 

By the end Danny couldn’t think of anything to say. 

 

Peter could be anywhere. Literally anywhere by now, if he was even recoverable from Venom. Matt described the thing as “unholy” and Danny couldn’t agree more. What type of monster was designed to take over a child? 

 

Danny glanced over to where Matt had slipped. There wears glass scattered, but also several sheets of lined paper with scrawled writing across them. For lack of words, Danny moved to pick them up. 

 

At first he assumed they were homework. Despite the handwriting the papers were organized neatly, one with a chart, they other two with tight bullet points. The first thing he read, however, was in no way high school related.

 

“Action without stimulus: slow motion or complete stillness. Agitation only occurs when stimulated,” Danny recited carefully. Matt immediately straightened.

 

“What?”

 

“Stimulus includes but is not limited to: sound, lights, motion, and especially me, even if none of the other stimuli are present.”

 

“Danny?” Matt had twisted to face him now, despite the fact that doing so wouldn’t help him understand the situation any better. Or maybe it would. Danny wasn’t entirely sure how his whole sensing thing worked.

 

“Peter’s notes. It’s what you slipped on.”

 

Matt’s eyebrows went up. “He must’ve been trying to gather data. Kid thinks like a scientist. Read more.”

 

“Actions while stimulated: rapid motion, banging on the glass, rocking back and forth, launching towards stimuli, low and raspy noises- did you hear anything while it was here? Other than when it spoke.”

 

Matt shook his head slowly, so Danny resumed reading, walking back to the couch as he did so.

 

“It does not seem to have any typical biological organization and its entire body seems to be made of the same black sludge. It is unclear how it moves, or does anything at all, but it is certainly alive and reactive. My spidey sense-” Danny paused in confusion. 

 

“It’s an internal sensor he has, warns him of danger preemptively. Don’t even ask me how it works.” 

 

Danny nodded and continued, “My spidey sense  _ hates _ it, so it’s likely highly dangerous and much more powerful than it seems. The glass seems to be reinforced in some way and is probably dampening its strength.”

 

Danny looked up momentarily and glanced around the apartment. From the damage alone the symbiote’s strength was self-evident, and Matt’s description only supplemented its power. If it hadn’t been able to escape up until now, the glass had to be doing something to it. Danny breathed and looked back at the Peter’s notes.

  
“Osborn’s use of the word “symbiote” implies that it requires a second half, something to either benefit or leech off of, maybe both. Osborn mentioned Harry, but it’s unclear if that means it was intended to form a symbiotic relationship with him or if it’s something else entirely.”

 

“Harry?”

 

“I don’t know, I don’t think Osborn said anything about a Harry.”

 

Matt sighed. The bruises around his neck had darkened further and crept towards his shirt collar. He’d closed his eyes at some point, but Danny hadn’t noticed when. His guard hadn’t fallen however; his shoulders remained tense and his expression thoughtful. An exhausted kind of watchful, apprehensive even. He’d need to rest before they did anything to help Peter.

 

“Is there more?”

 

“Some chemical things I don’t understand, with question marks next to them. And some kind of diagram for a… analyzer? Something to figure out its biological makeup I think. Oh-” Danny’s fingers hit something sticky as he turned a page. He lifted his hand to find a blue post-it note stuck to two fingertips. 

 

“What is it?” 

 

Danny turned it over and read it aloud.

 

“Tell Danny to call Colleen- Colleen!” Danny exclaimed in surprise. He’d completely forgotten about her. Oh no, he was in so much trouble. 

 

“Who?”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! Sorry about the wait, but as you're probably used to by now, You all know my uploads can range from 4 days to 4 months, so apologies for all previous stretches of inactivity and any future ones. It sucks I know, I'm doing my best.  
> However I must thank all of your wonderful and thoughtful comments on keeping me motivated and reminding me of this chapter waiting in my drive. Special thanks to Red Thorn in particular, for getting me off my butt about the last 500 words. You guys are a fantastic audience, and everything here is truly your doing.


	8. Puberty Is Unkind To The Best Of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haphazard meetings start to bring the Defenders (+Spidey) closer together.

He could see her through the window as he walked towards the front steps of her home, folding laundry with the kind of exasperated aggressiveness that he was so one of. A smile creeped around the corners of his mouth and he reached for the front door and knocked.

 

Claire had been his first thought when he walked out of the court house, the weight he had never really accepted finally off his shoulders and carried away by the damn good lawyers she’d somehow found him. No longer a convicted criminal, exonerated of the crime he had never committed in the first place and officially a free man. He happier than he’d been in years, and wanted to share it with Claire, but first he wanted to surprise her.

 

“Who is it?” She yelled from the other room. Luke heard her drop the laundry and move towards the door.

 

“Um, pizza delivery?” He tried. He hadn’t really planned this far.

 

“I didn’t-“ she muttered, opening the door. Immediately the disgruntled look fell from her features. “Luke!”

 

He grinned and they both stood still for a moment. Then her arms were around him and his around her and she was complaining that he hadn’t told her that he was being released today and he was apologizing and they were both smiling and tears were in both their eyes. She laughed, she hit him gently in the shoulder, she kissed him and he kissed her back. He was safe, she was safe. Everything was good. Better than good.

 

“You lied about the pizza,” she laughed, tapping him on the forehead.

 

“We can order some.”

 

Half an hour later and they’re baking a chocolate cake in the kitchen while they wait for the pizza to arrive. Claire had insisted they celebrate and had brought out a bottle of his favorite wine she’d been saving, but somehow he had ended up doing most of the baking while she sat at the counter and talked. That was just fine with Luke. Claire was an incredibly hard working nurse and a self-proclaimed terrible cook.

 

He told her about prison, even though he’d already conveyed most of the details in writing, and she gave him updates on her mother and barber shop. When he asked her about nursing though, she just smiled and sighed. “It’s been crazy” was the most Luke could get out of her, so instead he talked about his grandmother’s baking and all the recipients she’d passed down. The door bell rang just as he put the cake in the oven.

 

“That’ll be the pizza,” Claire smiled and tilted her chin up, “No thanks to you.”

 

“I was in prison until this morning, you know that right?”

 

“Mhm.” She stood and headed for the door. “You could’ve at least bought some on your way here.”

 

Luke laughed and pulled the mixing bowl to the sink. He listened to Claire tip the pizza girl and started cleaning up the mess he’d made of the kitchen. He could do this, easily. A regular life. As regular a life as you can get with bullet proof skin.

 

Then disaster crashes through Claire’s living room window.

 

“Sweet Christmas!” escaped his mouth before he could even realize, and damn, is it justified.

 

A twisting black mass landed on the shattered remains of Claire’s window and writhes, becoming a shape that somewhat resembles humanoid, if your standards are low. It shifted in place for a moment, on all fours with its head turning in all directions like a wounded animal. It was darker than any black he’d ever seen, twisting and shifting with the constancy of thick oil. He dropped the bowl in the sink.

 

Luke heard Claire mutter a hurried “thank you” to the pizza girl and slam the door. The _thing’s_ attention was on the noise in an instant.

 

Claire rushed back into the room right as the creature flew at her, but Luke was between them in an instant. It’s form was more solid and compact as it landed on him, feet on his shoulders, hands at his neck. Claire cursed loudly behind him.

 

“What the _actual_ hell?!”

 

He grunted and tried to grab at the thing, but it somehow just slipped through his fingers, deforming and reforming as soon as he had passed through. It was strong too, stronger the Jessica maybe, strong enough that it could almost hurt him.

 

Keyword: almost.

 

He hit the black thing as hard as he could dead center of its chest, and that part of it at least seemed solid, as it went flying off of him into the opposite wall.

 

“Claire, stay back,” he grunted, not looking back as he crept towards where it was recovering, head low, the creepy cavernous pits where it’s eyes should be following him. Did it just flick its tongue at him?

 

“What the is that thing?!”

 

“Hell if I know!” It hissed and launched again, this time purposefully at him, and landed a blow on his stomach. _That_ did hurt, barely. But it hurt the creature more. Some of its hand broke against his skin and fell to the floor, revealing something red underneath, but only for an instance. The hand quickly reformed, and the broken part creeped back across the ground to join with the rest of it. Shit.

 

“Shit,” he muttered, and the monster tilted its head at where it had hit him. Then it jumped again, baring teeth before driving them into his shoulder.

 

“Luke!”

 

It couldn’t pierce his skin, that was for sure. But it had refocused its strength and this time he definitely could feel it. Luke pulled at the thing, lifting black that just fell through his fingers before reconnecting to the main body. Then, under it all, he found something solid. He punched it.

 

The teeth stayed locked to his shoulder, but the solid mass hit the popcorn ceiling, then crumpled to the floor. Little bits of white plaster sprinkled on black, but the creature stilled.

 

Luke looked at Claire, whose eyes were as wide as his own. The remaining black stuff collapsed and dripped from his shoulder, lifeless. The same was happening to the main body. Like melting ice cream it sludged outward, losing whatever force had held it together before. But underneath the black goo something else was becoming visible. The darkness split where legs had been, revealing something blue and solid, and then red broke through where the head had been. Luke inhaled sharply.

 

“Claire, is that-“

 

But Claire was already there, pulling the black away and rolling over the body.

 

“Come, help me move him,” she commanded, calmer than he’d expected her to be, considering who was on her living room floor and what he had just done.

 

“Claire, that’s Spider-Man.” He didn’t move.

 

“Yeah, now get him on the couch.”

 

Luke stepped through the black puddles (which didn’t really splash, but kind of squelched and spread out around his shoes) and knelt down at Claire’s side.

 

Spider-Man was smaller than he’d imagined, with some distinct muscle mass visible through the suit but a lean and skinny build. He was completely limp, but his chest rose and fell slowly. Luke scooped him up easily. Only then did he notice the large shard of glass poking innocently out of his arm, just below the shoulder.

 

“Couch,” instructed Claire again as she quickly made for the hallway. Luke made his way over and gently laid Spider-Man on the couch.

 

He knew Spider-Man, obviously. Liked him, even. Not many superheroes use their powers daily to the little guy and stuck to that. He’d helped good people, albeit in an unnecessarily talkative way. He represented the side of the Avengers that cared about something more than a global crisis.

 

But why was he _here_ , covered in a black demon and with glass puncturing his shoulder? Luke had just gotten out of prison, for Pete’s sake, was his luck really this godawful? Unless…

 

“Claire?” He asked gently as she rushed back into the the room, first aid kit in hand.

 

“Mm?”

 

“You know him?” He gestured to the small figure sprawled across the couch.

 

She nodded without looking up, concentrating on measuring his pulse and his breathing. She even placed her hand on his forehead, with the mask still on.

 

“And you didn’t tell me?”

 

“Never came up. Can you grab a washcloth and some cold water? He’s burning up.”

 

Luke sighed. What else hadn’t she told him? He knew she’d met Jessica and had had “a few vigilante run-ins since”, but she’d never gone into detail. After some quick searching he retrieved a washcloth and a bowl of cold water from Claire’s kitchen, but upon re-entering he discovered an entirely different mystery.

 

“It’s gone,” he said, stopping mid-step. Claire didn’t look up from her patient.

 

“What’s gone?”

 

“The- the thing. The black stuff, it’s gone.”

 

Claire glanced back over her shoulder. The previous puddle of sentient goo was nowhere to be seen, the only evidence that it has even been there being the shattered window, the dented ceiling and the vigilante on the couch.

 

“Weird as hell,” Claire muttered, but there was groan and her attention returned immediately to Spider-Man.

 

Luke rushed forward and set the supplies on the side table. Claire had somehow loosened Spider-Man’s suit that it hang loosely around him, instead of tight to his skin like usual; she’d also pulled off his mask and thrown it to the foot of the couch. Luke wasn’t sure which was worse, the paleness and pain in his features or that fact that he looked about 12. His eyes were closed tight and his face glistening, Luke didn’t think he was even fully conscious.

 

“Claire,” he said slowly. She dipped and wrung out the washcloth and placed it on the kid’s forehead. “How old is he?”

 

“Nearly fifteen,” He tried to stifle his shock, but Claire paid him no mind, examining the glass shard embedded in his upper arm. “And before you ask: yes I’ve tried to talk him out of this, no he won’t listen, yes he’s a damn good superhero, yes I have people watching over him and his age is a very sore subject with him so I really suggest you don’t bring it up.”

 

Luke pushed down the other questions and concerns forming on his tongue and settled for wording only the most pressing one.

 

“Will he be okay?”

 

Claire sighed. “I think so.” She pulled back the folds of his suit around the glass shard. “Whatever that black stuff was, it mostly messed with his vitals: high temperature, increased heartbeat, etc. Like he’s working through a bad flu, only super fast. They might dip, which would be bad, but they’re pretty steady where he’s at, so he might just burn through it on his own. This is what I’m really concerned about,” she gestured to the glass. It was large, curved, ridged across the flat side and imbedded in the arm of a fourteen year old.

 

“He heals fast, and it must’ve been in him for a little while because the skin has become completely sealed to the glass. It seems pretty deep too.”

 

Luke glanced at her. Claire’s eyebrows were pulled tight and she was biting her lip in thought.

 

“So, pulling it out will rip up his arm inside.”

 

Claire shook her head slowly. “That’s best case-scenario. If it gets snagged on the way out — and we have no way of knowing what shape it is under there — it might shatter.”

 

“Leaving pieces in his arm; even worse to get out.”

 

Claire nodded, slowly and grimly. Then after a moment she started pulling her hair into a ponytail and locked eyes with him, “I’ll need your help.”

 

Claire pulled back the hole in Spider-Man’s sleeve and secured it with bobby pins, before prodding at the area around the glance. The kid shifted and made a few pitiful unconscious noises but didn’t wake. Claire positioned a hand on either side of the glass and nodded up at Luke.

 

“When I tell you I need you to pull the glass out, slowly. Keep it steady, don’t apply too much pressure and if it starts to strain just let go. Whatever you do, don’t break it.”

 

Luke placed his hands around the fragment, thankful that he had nothing to fear from the sharp edges, and nodded to Claire. She returned the gesture.

 

“Ready?”

 

“I think so.”

 

Claire took a deep breath, and Luke used the moment to do the same.

 

“Go.”

 

Claire pulled back the skin of Spider-Man’s arm in the same moment that Luke gave the glass a steady pull upwards, not too gentle, not too hard. It Slid out slowly, carefully, and with a horrible cry from the kid it was attached to.

 

Claire kept her hold and resisted and Spider-Man deliriously tried to recoil his arm, and Luke hesitated. But Claire held steady and he resumed, cautiously guiding out another inch of glass, then another, and then somehow it was in the air and completely free of the kid, who had gone completely limp.

 

“Out!” exclaimed Claire, releasing her hands and pulling the bloody glass out of Luke’s, exchanging it for gauze.

 

“Put that on it and apply pressure, I’ll prepare stitches.”

 

Luke did as instructed, ignoring the fresh blood that was suddenly pouring out of the wound. Out of the kid. The kid, who moonlighted as a household name superhero and had fought with the Avengers. _His_ job was to keep kids safe and out of danger. This heated his heart in all the wrong ways.

 

Claire stuck out a hand with a bottle of something with a long ass medical name on the label. With her other hand she was sterilizing two sutures on the coffee table. The woman was a marvel of multitasking.

 

“Pour this over the wound,” she instructed. Luke took the bottle.

 

He pulled back the gauze and clear liquid ran over the puncture, but as it is so the drying blood cleared away and Luke saw something he would never forget. It was smaller. The wound has lost length on both ends and was rapidly becoming a thin line instead of a horrid puncture.

 

“Uh, Claire? You said he heals faster right?”

 

Before his eyes scarring was forming at the edges and the skin was _literally_ knitting itself back together.

 

“Yeah. This should be mostly healed in a day or two.”

 

“How about five minutes?”

 

Claire whipped around and pushed Luke’s hands away. There, before both their eyes, the part of Spider-Man’s arm that had been full of glass moments before shrunk into a wide scar, then a thin one, then disappeared entirely.

 

“Oh sweet Jesus,” muttered Claire, brushing away the remaining blood with her thumb. There was nothing underneath, just smooth, pale skin. Claire leaned back her heels.

 

“That’s never happened before?”

 

“Not by a long shot,” she placed the back of her hand on the kid’s cheek, “his fever seems to be going down though.”

 

Luke wiped up what he could with the gauze and tossed it to a nearby trash can. Claire started slowly repacking her medical kit, and Luke lowered himself to sit on the ground. He stayed there for a moment, keeping his bloody hands out in front of him to keep from staining Claire’s carpet.

 

“What happened to him?” he asked. Claire snapped the lid of her case shut.

 

“I don’t know. I don’t know at all. That black stuff-“

 

“No,” Luke interrupted, “I mean, how did he get like this? His powers?”

 

“Oh,” Claire said quietly, thinking for a moment. “He told me it was a spider.”

 

“An actual spider? His name doesn’t come out of nowhere?”

 

Claire let out a weak laugh. “No, uh, he said he got bit on a school field trip. Something about radioactive experiments with… cross-species genetics? I don’t really know, he was bleeding out when he explained it and I was much more concerned with keeping him, you know, alive.”

 

Luke nodded. “So it was an accident? Not an-” his shoulders bristled, “intentional thing?”

 

Claire placed on of her hands on his, both covered red. “No. Definitely unintentional.”

 

“And the superheroing? Do you know how that happened? It’s a long jump between getting powers and actually using them.”

 

Claire sighed, a sad look creeping onto the corners of her eyes. “That is a very complicated story, and I’m not sure I’m the right person to tell it. I can say that he’s a hard worker, committed to helping people and far too reckless for my liking.”

 

Luke nodded again. Claire hooked her bloody hand through his and pulls him up, flashing a soft smile.

 

“We should wash up.”

 

Luke followed her to the bathroom. There was something awful and noble about it at the same time, a vigilante so young. Horrifying to think what he’d been through, what he will go through. Impressive to see such broad-minded selflessness. Claire shoved her medical kit into a drawer while Luke washed his hands, and decided he should dare one more question.

 

“What’s his name.”

 

She tilted her head at him, dumbfounded. Luke searched her face.

 

“Not _Spider-Man_ , you know, his real name.”

 

Claire shut the drawer and leaned against the counter. Luke pulled a towel off the rack and dried his hands slowly, allowing her time to think. He knew that anonymity was important in this whole vigilante thing, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen being the perfect example thereof, but Luke had never really had time for that. Not in a Tony Stark “I am Iron Man, praise my achievements” sort of way. Just, his deeds had always been a little closer to home to hide who he was, and he had nothing he couldn’t protect. However Luke knew that Spider-Man was distinctly careful with his identity, guarding it more than any other Avenger during the whole Germany… thing. But something in him, the part that had seen the kids face, itched to know.

 

Claire never had to make the decision, however, because a crash from the other room indicated that their guest had woken up.

 

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

 

—-

 

After a shady billionaire showed up at her door and demanded even shadier information, Jessica did the only reasonable thing that could be expected of her: she followed him. She’d taken a gamble on him, and she was going to ensure that it paid out.

 

And she had to admit, he was much more surprising than she had expected.

 

Firstly, he had stopped at two tech suppliers. While she hadn’t expected someone who’d been missing for over a decade to have a large amount of computer knowledge, after she’d seen him with a handwritten list it became evident that the tech wasn’t for him. Maybe for the analysis of the “genetic sludge” he’d mentioned. Maybe a gift.

 

Secondly, and more importantly, Danny Rand did not run off to the high-price apartments of New York like she’d expected. He headed straight for Hell’s Kitchen and entered a lower end apartment building with a tentative familiarity. Probably the last place she’d expected to follow him, aside from the actual sewers.

 

Once she determined he wasn’t going anywhere, Jessica found a cozy spot on a billboard across from the building, camera in hand and booze balanced precariously at her side.

 

This was her element.

 

The apartment itself was full of increasingly suspect information. Through her camera Jessica found a blown out window, a practically bare living room, and, most interestingly enough, a man.

 

A little scruffy hair-wise but young and well-dressed, he hadn’t moved from the couch in the entire time she’d been there. He spent most of the time leaning deeply into the couch and talking into space, even as Rand walked in and out of her sights.

 

A little digging revealed him to be Matthew Murdock, owner of the apartment and partner of the Nelson and Murdock law firm. The website had a picture of a smiling blond guy and Murdock himself, sporting dark glasses and a cane.

 

Now the question of the hour: what was Danny Rand doing at the apartment of a blind lawyer in the middle of Hell’s kitchen?

 

The two seemed riled up as well. Both tense and frustrated, though it didn’t seem with each other. No yelling or angry body language at each other, but Rand kept pacing around as Murdock talked from the couch, shaking his head almost every time Danny opened his mouth.

 

The word disheartened comes to mind.

 

Jessica tore the top off her bottom shelf alcohol and took a long drink before setting it down and pulling out her phone.

 

Danny Rand, billionaire, missing for fifteen years, do-gooder who has continuously thrown holes in his own companies practices since returning. Very susceptible to charity cases, from what she could find, and seemingly the headstrong clueless type. There was also a lot of conspiracy theories, but nothing of value.

 

So with a bad taste in her mouth Jessica dialed the only other place she knew might hold some information she lacked.

 

“ _Jessica?_ ” answered Hogarth, after the third ring.

 

“Tell me everything you know about Danny Rand.”

 

Hogarth scoffed on the other end of the line,“Hello to you too.”

 

“I’m not one for formalities.” Jessica shifted the phone between her shoulder and her ear and brought the camera back up to her eyes. She couldn’t find Danny in the room, at least not from this angle.

 

Hogarth sighed. “Clearly. You know I can’t just tell you, attorney-client confidentiality. Rand’s one of our most important-“

 

“No, none of that,” interrupted Jessica, trying to locate Rand, “you worked for his family for ages, I want to know what he’s like, how he acts, his intentions.”

 

“And why do you need to know this?” There he was. He was walking back towards the couch, carrying a large rectangular case.

 

“He hired me,” Jessica muttered absently. He’d handed the box the Murdock now, who opened it delicately and precisely.

 

“He hired _you_?”

 

Jessica scoffed, “Is that really so hard to imagine?”

 

“Why would Danny Rand need to hire you?”

 

Murdock was rummaging inside the case now, pulling something out and setting it aside. Jessica snapped a photo just in case.

 

“I dunno. Investigator-client confidentiality.”

 

“Ah, I see,” Jessica could almost see Hogarth smiling, “Well, it doesn’t break any rules for me to tell you he’s childish, altruistic and reckless. When he was young he was pretty shy, but now that he’s back from wherever he’s very demanding and unafraid. Still pretty naive though. Talks about weird zen stuff too.”

 

What are you up to, Murdock? There’s something fabric-like coming out of the case now. Murdock gathered it up in his arms and Danny closed the  empty case and took it away. Another photo.

 

“Anything I should be concerned about?”

 

“If he’s got you working on something, he won’t stop until it’s done. He’s stubborn that way.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Jessica-“ started Hogarth, but the investigator had already hung up. In the window, Murdock was standing and holding a very red piece of clothing, and, when he tilted his hands the right way, a horned mask. She snapped a photo.

 

Gotcha.

 

Danny Rand was working with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, who was certainly not the vigilante he’d mentioned to her.

 

Another important note: either Matthew Murdock wasn’t blind or was very into cosplay.

 

Jessica was betting on the former, and was immediately confirmed when the lawyer, in full Red and black body armor climbed out the window and disappeared around the edge of the fire escape. Danny Rand left vía the door.

 

Jessica decided this was worth further study. She chose the more intriguing narrative and followed.

 

Daredevil was exactly as agile and discreet as the news described, darting over rooftops, through alleys and around corners at a pace that was difficult for Jessica to keep up with and would be impossible for a regular person. She kept back, just close enough to not lose him and just far enough to not be noticed. She took photos whenever an opportunity presented itself, which wasn’t often.

 

Jessica had finally caught one with his full suit in frame when she looked up to find him gone, the roof entire deserted. Nope, no way she was gonna lose this lead. This was some of the most interesting work she’d done in ages.

 

She glanced wildly around, running to where she’d just seen him. She followed the corner around a service room.

 

Suddenly Daredevil was on her, his forearm pressed hard into her throat, pinning her to the wall, and his dark red cowl level with her eyes. His horns pointed just above her forehead, the opaque eye-slots drilled unwaveringly into her. The red of his suit filled most of her vision. The mask doesn’t cover his face below his nose, and Jessica watched his scruffy jaw and thin lips twist into a menacing snarl.

 

“Why are you following me?”

 

Jessica was impressed. It’s not often that someone catches her completely off guard like that. It’s also not often someone notices her tailing. Unfortunately for him, it also pissed her off.

 

One hard shove on the shoulder and he’d released his hold and was stumbling backwards, as startled as she’d been moments before. She’d not pushed hard enough to injure but definitely enough to hurt. She threw on a smirk and stepped forward.

 

“Don’t try something like that again.”

 

He straightened, and flashed a ghost of a smile, hand on his shoulder.

 

“You’re strong.”

 

That’s when Jessica finally noticed. She’d never have realized otherwise, chalked it up to weird vigilantes being weird vigilantes, but the way he held himself, ear towards her, face turned partly away. Feet steady and balance in her direction but shoulders pointed to her right. The opaque eye slots.

 

“And you’re actually blind.” His face fell in an instant. He was back at the snarl, taking an aggressively step towards her with his head low.

 

“What did you just say?”

 

“You’re blind. Shit. Actually blind. How does that even work?” She sidestepped away from him. “You telepathic or something?”

 

His voice was low when he spoke again, “Where did you hear that?” It was as much a threat as a question.

 

“Didn’t hear it anywhere. I figured it out, Mr. Murdock.”

 

That seemed to push him over the edge. He lunged at her, but now she prepared. She stepped to the left and aimed for his solar plexus, but he darted out of the way just in time. She tried to land a hit on his side when he rounded back on her, but he just slid out of the way again.

 

In seconds he was going at her again. A kick came out of nowhere and lands squarely on her ribs. Jessica recovered, then neatly catches his next throw, and twists his arm around.

 

“How are you doing this?” She demanded, turning his wrist further. Murdock struggled against her, but she knows her grip is too strong. He doesn’t speak until he realizes that she has him.

 

“Doing what?” he asked finally, in between breaths.

 

“Daredevil. This…thing,” she gestured at his get up, “You’re a blind lawyer.”

 

He just stared at her for a moment. Well, not stared, but kept his face level and his jaw tight, the dark eye slots of his mask boring into her.

 

“You’re strong, too strong, I’m sure you understand.”

 

Jessica scoffed. Half-turning away. Her guard was too low for a moment too long, and he managed to land a hit on her shoulder that forced her back enough that he slipped from her grasp.

 

“What do you want?” He kept his voice low, forming each word slowly and carefully. His body was poised for attack again. Jessica was getting sick of this back and forth game.

 

“Danny Rand hired me.”

 

That surprised him. He recoiled, but stayed defensive.

 

“Hired you? To follow me?”

 

“Hell no. To find out about Oscorp.”

 

Daredevil’s shoulders relaxed slowly, but he still had his fists up cautiously in front him.

 

“You’re Jessica Jones,” he breathed, but then he frowned “but that still doesn’t explain why you were following me.”

 

Jessica shifted the strap of her camera impatiently.

 

“Curiosity. He mentioned Spider-Man, not you. I had to find out what I was dealing with.”

 

“You followed him? To the apartment?”

 

Jessica shrugged. Murdock straightened and put his hand to his temples.

 

“This is such a mess,” he muttered. Jessica scoffed.

 

“You’re telling me.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are actually fantastic fans, thank you all for being so patient and encouraging and receiving my work so well! Especially all of you leaving comments (sometimes every chapter, you guys are the best).  
> Yes! Peter is on the tail end of fourteen in this fic, as I finally settled on. Sorry to disappoint those of you thinking otherwise, but this leaves the potential open for possibly a birthday ;)  
> Overall, apologies on the wait and thank you for every single comment. I can't wait to right more.  
> Also I saw Infinity War and it's absolutely fantastic, a perfect blending of all the tones, still funny and intense and sad and everything we expect from Marvel. If you haven't seen it, go. I cannot wait for part two.


	9. Can I kick it?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny's looking for Peter. Peter's grappling with some more personal issues. Everyone is falling into place.

Danny descended the stairs of Matt’s apartment building and pulled out his phone.

 

He usually kept it off. Yesterday had been the first time he’d opened it in a few days, and he’d immediately shut it off after finding all of Peter’s tech needs yesterday. He didn’t like how phones worked now. Too noisy, too distracting. He couldn’t focus with it on, despite having very little actually on his phone. His secretary and Colleen hated that he kept it off, but his peace was worth the frustration.

 

The music though, he did like. Way more options than his iPod. Kind of an overwhelming amount of options actually. He hadn’t really had a chance to explore it all yet, and mostly stuck with what he knew. Someday, though. Maybe Peter could help him.

 

Danny swallowed nervously at the thought, but he breathed out slowly and forced himself to close his eyes. 

 

It was fine. Peter would be fine, 

 

His call went through as he passed through the last door of the building.

 

“Danny!” exclaimed the surprised voice on the other end.

 

“Colleen,” he breathed, and the moment he did so the exhaustion and intensity of the last few days settled deeply into his core for the first time. His shoulders fell and his throat went tight. He was suddenly calm, but…

 

“Where the hell have you been?! I haven’t heard from you in a week! The Oscorp building blows up, and I just know you’re involved and suddenly Spider-Man is dropping in on my training sessions, saying he knows you! And I’ve called you so many times! Nothing! Absolutely nothing! I don’t know if you’re dead, or hurt, or even in the city anymore! You complete ass!”

 

He smiled, despite himself. Danny knew he’d screwed up, knew he’d prioritized these new people over her and he knew he would pay for it, but the sound of her voice was just too familiar and reassuring for him to care. 

 

He let her talk, providing quiet “I know”s and “sorry”s whenever she paused for breath, but allowing her enough space to get it all off her chest. He hailed a cab in the meantime, and gave the driver instructions to head to the places Matt had suggested would be a good start. He thought, even in this crazed “symbiote” state, Peter might run to places that are familiar to him.

 

“And I even called Claire yesterday! She said you’d had some kind of super-hero-stupid fight and Spider-Man had gotten hurt and you’d healed him?! What kind of idiotic shit have you been up to?! Why haven’t you told me?!”

 

“I should’ve called,” he said quietly, and she slows down immediately. 

 

“Yeah, you should have.”

 

A moment of silence hung in the static as the taxi paused at a red light. 

 

“Where are you?” 

 

Danny swallowed his answer before it could leave his lips. He regretted not keeping her, but he still didn’t want her involved. This wasn’t the Hand, wasn’t human. Didn’t work in a way that made any sense to real life. He knew she could look after herself, but he couldn’t let her get hurt before he understood what was happening.

 

He had already lost Peter. And he’d only just met him.

 

“I can’t. I’m sorry, Colleen, I just- There’s this huge thing and I-“ He didn’t really know how to end that statement, so he just leaves it hanging in the air. He waited for Colleen to yell. To his surprise, she doesn’t say anything, and for a long pause the line is functionally dead.

 

“You’re sure?” she asked calmly, quiet like he only heard her be in tender moments, or dangerous ones. 

 

“Yeah” was his lame reply. 

 

There was a deep breath on the other end of the line. 

 

“Fine. Don’t you dare get hurt, don’t you dare not call me back, and don’t you dare hesitate to call if you need me.”

 

Danny sighed in relief. “Thanks for understanding.”

 

She huffed, “I’m not understanding, I don’t understand, but I know you’re more stubborn than I am.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Keep your phone on, keep it charged.” 

 

“I will.”

 

“And tell Spider-Man ‘Hi’ for me.”

 

The line goes dead for real after she said that. This is how it usually was for them, neither were goodbye people, so they didn’t bother. Goodbye was meaningless if you ever saw the person again, useless if you didn’t, and tensely confusing if you weren’t sure of the outcome. They tended to steer clear. But the mention of Spider-Man, so almost gruffly and unknowingly dropped, left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

 

He stepped out of the taxi moments later, leaving the driver with a generous tip (to be honest he wasn’t really sure what amount was appropriate, but he assumed overestimating couldn’t hurt), and made his way into the apartment building opposite. 

 

When he found the right door he gathered together slightly and gave a soft knock. So soft he almost expected that it hadn’t been heard, but, moments later, the door swung open to reveal a tall, thin woman. Young, but with tension lines etched into her face and large rounded glasses that made her actual age hard to place. She was dressed in brightly colored scrubs, and opened the door with a smile that fell as soon as she saw him. Clearly she’d been hoping for someone else.

 

“Are you May Parker?” He asked tentatively. 

 

“Mhm.” The noise she made was half challenging, half concerned. She was kind of disheveled, but in the overworked nurse kind of way, where her eyes were tired and her ponytail askew. He knew right away he wasn’t going to find Peter here, but he had to try.

 

“I’m here for your nephew, Peter Parker. In coordination with his internship at Stark Industries.”

 

She softened immediately.

 

“Oh! He’s out with some friends for the weekend, but come on in, I’ll pour some lemonade.” 

 

So Peter hadn’t run here. It was a long shot, at best, but still Danny had hoped finding him would be this easy. That he’d find Peter dripping off the last of the black stuff on his own sofa, with his aunt doting over him, freaked out, but safe. Or worse, ransacking the place, but at least he would be there. Now they still had the rest of the city to search. 

 

However, he couldn’t tell any of this to the wonderful woman who ushered him onto her sofa and pressed a glass of lemonade onto his hands with a proud grin before he could think of an excuse to leave. Matt had stressed to him Peter’s identity situation, and Danny was not about to let them down any further. 

 

“So what’s this about?” She said, as Danny is mid-gulp. He splutters for a moment before answering.

 

“Well, um, my company is, well, considering partnering with Stark Industries on a research project, and we’re looking for a, uh, student intern to head to program.”

 

“What company is this?” She asked, friendly enough but narrowing her eyes at him. She’d positioned herself casually on the other side of the couch, one ankle tucked under her opposite knee. 

 

“Rand. I’m, well, Danny Rand.”

 

She gasped and a playful smile filled her face, all the way to her eyes. “I knew I recognized you!  You were all over the front page! Missing billionaire returns fifteen years later!” 

 

He smiled obligingly and nodded. His heel was bouncing against the carpet and he was itching to return to his search, but he knew he had to keep this up, for Peter’s sake.

 

“But I’m sure you’ve heard plenty of that,” she continued, patting his knee gently, “So, you’re considering Peter for this position?”

 

“Yeah,” he started, then wild idea popped into his head, and, running with it, he said, “Mr. Stark himself recommended him, you know. Good work ethic, intelligent, um, committed. He’s helped with a couple important breakthroughs.”

 

May beamed at him. Suddenly Danny felt very little guilt about lying, supplanted by the simple knowledge that he’d pleased this woman. He understood where Peter had gotten his upbeat attitude from.

 

“That’s wonderful! He’s such a smart kid, you know! And he’s so humble that he doesn’t really like to talk big about himself. Hasn’t really told me anything about how it’s going at the internship. It’s so great that it’s been so good to him! And now he’s being recognized for his talent!” May Parker’s eyes shone with pride. Hearing her gush about her nephew filled Danny with such joy that he momentarily forgot the urgency and took another sip of lemonade.

 

“Nothing’s in stone, of course,” he said, after he’d resurfaced from his drink. 

 

“Of course,” echoed May seriously, her eyes big, the effect of which was enhanced somewhat by her round glasses.  

 

“We’ll have to do an interview, run through the possible candidates... ” he had really bought into his own lie at this point, and trailed off his voice with drama before saying, “but I’m pretty confident it will be him.”

 

May’s eyes sparkled with joy, and her lips were stretched into a wide grin. 

 

“That’s so great!” She babbled happily about how proud she was of him for a moment, of all his skills and determined use of them. Building computers from dumpster parts and science kits when he was eight.

 

Danny, suddenly hit by the fact he’d been neglected his actual mission, stood quickly and nodded, digging inside his jacket for a business card. He extended it to her, and she accepted readily, the silly grin still permeating her features. 

 

“Just have him call us when you see him next,” his voice caught on the last word, as his reignited concern pulled at his throat, but May didn’t seem to notice. They shook hands, and she walked with an extra spring in her step as she led him to the door.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Rand. Oh, I can’t wait to tell Peter!”

 

“Please, call me D-“ Danny didn’t even think as he turned around to correct her, but as he did so he caught sight of a collection of photographs on the wall. One was of Peter as a baby with a woman who certainly wasn’t May, but had his same soft eyes, and was flanked by a thin man with the same messy brown hair. Most showed Peter at a variety of ages, beaming at the camera, accompanied by May and-

 

“-anny,” he finished, and, before he could stop himself, “sorry, but who’s that?” 

 

May turned to follow his eyes, and the joy melted slowly off her features like candle wax. She kept her smile, but her eyes turned sad.

 

“Oh, that’s Peter’s uncle,” she turned and smiled bravely at him, “he died about a year ago.”

 

A soft “Oh” slipped from Danny’s mouth, and it took a moment before he could gather himself back together enough to manage, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

 

“Me too,” said May quietly, smile never wavering, “he was a great man. I see a lot of him in Peter.”

 

Overcome by sudden emotion and a deep, haunting empathy for Peter, Danny grasped May’s hands in his own and lower his head to look her seriously in the eyes. 

 

“He’s lucky to have you,” he rushed, not an ounce of lie or exaggeration in his voice. May, overwhelmed, didn’t say anything, but just watched him, open mouthed and eyes glossy.

 

“You’re so strong,” he continued slowly, “in a way I rarely see, even among warriors, and a boy like Peter needs someone like you.”

 

Her eyes glistened and her fingers went limp in his hands. Without thinking, Danny pulled her into a tight hug, his own eyes threatening to spill over and he said quickly into her shoulder, “Thank you for being there for him.” Then he released her and rushed away, leaving May Parker standing frozen in the doorway. 

 

Danny stopped in the apartment stairwell a moment later, one hand clasped tightly to the railing, and wiped his tears on his sleeve, hoping that Mrs. Parker would attribute his actions to the eccentricity of billionaires and not give it any further thought. 

 

Peter’s high school was next on the list, then a friends house and a few stops he frequented, some as Spider-Man, some as Peter Parker. Matt was scanning the rest of the city more holistically, his enhanced senses making it much easier to check over large areas for signs of a creepy goo monster, or else a flutter-hearted teen.

 

Danny scrunched up his nose at the thought of the black goo in the glass in combination with the Peter he knew. Matt hadn’t actually  _ seen  _ it, so all he could describe was what he felt and smelled and heard. It hadn’t painted a clear image for Danny at all. Peter’s small frame covered in a thin layer of black? Or a large hulking creature unrecognizable as Spider-Man? Did it have eyes? Did it even stay black? 

 

Danny shook his head and pulled out his phone. 

 

_ Two missed calls from Matthew Murdock _ .

 

_ Two texts _ . 

 

Danny’s heart jumped in his chest. Had he found Peter?

 

“ _ We need to meet. Immediately.”  _ read the first. 

 

The second was instructions to find Matt behind a Mexican restaurant in Brooklyn.

 

Vague. Cryptic. Characteristically Matt. Danny was practically vibrating. He stumbled through a simple response, his fingers still clunky on modern phone keyboards.

 

“ _ Did you find him? _ ”

 

Three flickering dots hovered for a moment on the other end, before Matt’s reply came through as an unmistakable “ _ No _ ”.

 

Danny released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and found himself a cab. 

 

The sky was still a dull afternoon gray, the full expanse of it layered in clouds. Traffic was slow, in typical New York fashion. Danny tried to meditate, but every bump in the road or sudden stop felt like plan turbulence, and all the street bustle hit his ears as strong winds and his mother’s voice. But whenever his concentration broke a horrible image of Peter’s figure filled his mind, half covered in black symbiote, a white spider symbol slashed across his dark chest, eyes dead.

 

Danny gave up and stared at the clouds instead. 

 

Soon he’d arrived, and with another hefty tip that left the old driver grinning, Danny clambered out of the cab, smoothed down his suit and walked around the restaurant. 

 

“Ma- Daredevil?” he called quietly, remembering that Matt had left in costume.

 

There was a grunt of affirmation further down the street, and the dark cowled figure of Daredevil stepped away from a wall, arms crossed and head low. Danny opened his mouth in question but immediately sealed it again when a different shadow emerged from behind Matt. One with thick dark hair and an unmistakable frown.

 

“Jessica Jones?” he managed incredulously. 

 

She tilted her chin to him and with characteristic sarcasm said, “What’s up?”

 

Danny looked from her to Matt. Under the mask his face was hard, and his jaw tight. Jessica was the opposite, loose features and a hand placed casually on her camera strap. He wasn’t sure which was more menacing. 

 

Matt remained impassive, so Jessica took the lead.

 

“You failed to mention that you were besties with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen,” she said, pointing her thumb haphazardly at Matt, “I don’t take kindly to lies.”

 

“And,” added Daredevil, voice so low it was almost threatening, “You managed to hire the one investigator in New York who would follow you instead of your target.”

 

“I try”.

 

“So…” fumbled Danny, catching up, “You followed me… then Daredevil?” 

 

“Easily. And cut the nicknames, I know it’s Murdock.”

 

Danny tensed. Matt bristled but didn’t move to uncross his arms. Danny rounded on Jessica.

 

“Are you threatening us?”

 

She scoffed. “I’d just like to know exactly what I’m getting into with this whole Oscorp thing. I’m here for Mrs. Cabrero, first and foremost, but if you’re trying to pulling something on me-”

 

“What have you told her?” Danny interrupted, turning to Matt.

 

“Jack shit,” answered Jessica for him. Matt tilted his head.

 

“I was waiting for you,” he said passively, “How much do you trust her?”

 

Jessica took an angry step forward, placing herself half between Danny and Matt.

 

“The real question is how much I trust you two,  _ mister _ Murdock. I’m the one with the info, and I’m not keeping secrets. I can leave you two in the dust and then where would you be?”

 

That is exactly where they could not allow themselves to be right now. Peter’s gone, in who knows how much danger from the symbiote, and Jessica held their only leads on Oscorp.

 

“It’s alright, alright? We trust her, Matt,” he turned to Jessica, “We trust you.”

 

“Then why did you fail to mention him, Danny Rand? You trying to build some kind of super-team or something? I said  _ no one else _ .”

 

He held his hands up in an attempt to pacify her. It was pretty ineffective. 

 

“I just didn’t want to overcomplicate things. I didn’t think-”

 

“Yeah, you didn’t.”

 

Matt huffed at that, still maintaining his frown, his fingers twitching where they rested on his arms. 

 

“It’s just, with Spider-Man-”

 

“Where even is he?” asked Jessica, throwing up her arms, “You’re here, freaking Daredevil is here; where the hell is Spider-Man? You said he was central to this!”

 

Danny softened, Matt stiffened, and a stark silence fell among them. Jessica slowed.

 

“They got him, didn’t they?”

 

Matt spoke up, body language all pointed behind Danny, at the busy street, like he was trying not to read Jessica. “Not exactly, but yes, he’s in trouble.”

 

Jessica gawked at them. “You lost a guy in red and blue tights.”

 

Danny nodded, frowning. 

 

“I’m out. Good luck to you, and all that, but this is so not my problem.” She turned, but Matt stepped forward and hooked a hand around her arm. Not restraining, just there. She paused, lips pursed.

 

“Danny said you have intel on Oscorp. We- he needs your help. Spider-Man, he’s going to need more than just the two of us.”

 

She seemed to consider this for a moment, then shrugged of his hand. 

 

“Like I said, good luck.”

 

She started down the street, back stiff and hand tight around her camera. After a moment, with no better ideas and a sinking desperation in his throat, Danny called out to her.

 

“He’s just a kid.”

 

She froze mid-step, then slowly and dramatically spun around to face them. She stared for a moment, looking them up and down, then inhaled deeply.

 

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

 

A voice from above them, haughty and ugly, responded.

 

“Oh yes indeed, Miss Jones.”

 

— 

 

Peter’s eyes were open. It wasn’t so much that they  _ opened _ , but one moment was black and next vivid, so he assumed they must have opened in between, without his knowledge or consent.

 

They were fixed, with vivid curiosity, on the white, pockmarked — and, he could only assume — ceiling above him.

 

Aunt May hates popcorn-style ceilings. She’s complained about the one in her bedroom for years. Peter didn’t really think much of them either way, but for some indecipherable reason, this one  _ fascinated  _ him.

 

Each bump and shadow was so vivid and visceral, almost like he was running his hands along it. The texture was mesmerizing. 

 

He was vaguely aware of voices, maybe coming through a wall. The sounds were sharp and clear, each so much so that he couldn’t actually string the words together.

 

Peter examined each detail of the ceiling with care, comparing the sizes of each little hill and crevice, getting lost in the shadows and the bright spots until he had a sudden realization. 

 

He  _ recognized _ this ceiling. 

 

Peter attempted to sit up, and promptly toppled onto the ground.

 

In his scramble he managed to bring down a coffee table and knock over a lamp with his foot, but nothing sounded broken and Peter was suddenly incredibly aware of the texture of the carpet through his gloves. Gloves he only now realized he was still wearing, except his suit was hanging loose around him like the mechanisms had been released. He dug his hands into the thick carpet, revelling in the influx of sensation.

 

“Woah,” slipped quietly from between his lips.

 

There were footsteps, thudding down and echoing through the floor. The air smelled like pizza and chocolate. Peter groaned and rolled into his back, absently tapping the spider on his chest. Threads and wires all across his body tightened, fitting the fabric smoothly to his skin. He felt immediately more comfortable with his second skin on properly, but there was still so much sensation, so much feeling, like his brain was super focused on ten things all at once.

 

More voices. Talking. Talking to him. Something was knelt down beside him, with fine infinite creases across the hand reaching for his face.

 

“Can you hear me? Pe-”

 

With that he was on his feet in an instant. His mind went faster than his body, however, and then he was falling forward. Strong hands like steel caught him under his arms and he worked to regain his balance, blinking rapidly.

 

Then he looked up at the stunned face of the man holding him up. 

 

“Holy shit. You’re Luke Cage.”

 

An odd grin broke across the man’s face. Peter took a few wild steps backwards.

 

“Holy  _ shit _ . You’re like,  _ the _ neighborhood hero. What you did in Harlem- How are you even here? I thought you were still in jail! Luke Cage! In the flesh! It's such an honor to meet you, Mr. Cage,” he turned, finding Claire behind him and mouthed “ _ Luke Cage _ !” pointing for emphasis, just in case she hadn’t noticed the superhero in her living room.

 

Claire didn’t seem nearly as surprised or as enthusiastic as he was. Her face was set into a hard, thoughtful frown and she stepped towards him seriously.

 

“What the hell happened Pete-“

 

There it was again, his favorite nurse trying to reveal his most important secret. In a flurry of limbs and shushing noises Peter covered her mouth with his hands before she could finish his name.

 

She pushed him away indignantly. 

 

“Really? This? Now?”

 

Peter nodded quickly, maybe too quickly, because his head was pounding and he was suddenly wildly aware of his own rapid heartbeat, and Claire’s slower one, and Luke  _ Freaking  _ Cage’s, which drummed slow and steady like a ticking clock and the man was just standing there, frowning, not realizing his heart was echoing around the entire room.

 

“Peter!” 

 

Claire’s voice startled him back and he gulped, holding his mouth tight. He turned back to face her, and her face was as serious and furrowed as he’d ever seen her. He stared, eyes wide, trying to shut out the waterfall in his ears.

 

“You broke my window!” she started, pointing, and to his surprise Peter found that she was indeed correct. Glass was scattered around the sill, spread far enough that whatever had hit must have done so with some force, but he didn’t-

 

“You- you were this  _ thing _ !” She stumbled over her tongue, struggling to find the right words, and only then did Peter realized how panicked she was. “Except it wasn’t you. It was this big creepy monster, but when Luke got it down you were inside and- What  _ was  _ it, Peter? Why the hell are you here, why were you  _ inside a monster _ ?”

 

Peter scrunched up his face. That didn’t make sense at all, he was with… where was he? There was something -- a big crash, or explosion, or something. Then… what?

 

“A- a monster?”

 

“Spider-Man,” said Luke Cage carefully, his shirt rustling as he stepped towards them slowly, “What do you remember?”

 

Peter thought hard. The last clear thing was swinging, the city, but he did that all the time. Matt’s apartment. Homework, English homework. And dumping out his backpack.

 

“Origami,” he said suddenly. Claire and Luke stared.

 

“Origami,” he repeated, nodding to himself, “A spider.”

 

Claire put a hand to her forehead and turned away, taking a deep breath. Her other hand was tight to her hip and her shoulders were all tight. Peter blinked a few times. Everything was reaching him in waves. His eyes fell on two pizza boxes down the hall, set down haphazardly by the front door. Suddenly he was hit by how hungry he was. His stomach felt like an empty pit, like he was caving inwards into it. And he could smell pepperoni. And the cheese and marinara sauce. Luke Cage caught his eyeline.

 

“Go for it,” he said. Peter couldn’t read his expression, but his stomach decided that wasn’t important. He carried over the pizza, running his gloved fingers over the corrugated edges of the box while Luke righted the coffee table. Claire was pacing slowly.

 

He put a slice in his mouth, then immediately withdrew it. The flavors, they were too vivid, too intense. He felt almost dizzy trying to process them. There’s no way he could eat that. There’s way, way too much going on in that slice. He sat down hard on the now-upright coffee table. Claire tuned into him immediately.

 

“What's wrong?”

 

Peter shook his head. It was like his brain had doubled, half super-attentive, too much so and half slow and tired. The split hurt. He dropped the pizza and shoved his palms into his eyes, focusing hard on the pressure, hoping it might relieve him of… something. 

 

Claire, suddenly by his side, pulled his hands away gently. She felt his forehead, his pulse, told him to breathe slow. She looked up at Luke.

 

“He’s still running hot, and fast. I don’t know how stable he is. His eyes are dilated and bloodshot. I don’t know what this is. I don’t know at all.”

 

Luke thought for a moment. Then he knelt down next to Claire.

 

“An origami spider?”

 

Peter nodded. 

 

“Did you make it?”

 

He thought about this, searching Luke’s face. His skin was that kind of brown that shone like it was layered over gold. Peter could see every pore.

 

“No.”

 

“Who did?”

 

He thought about this too.

 

“I… Iron Fist. He did.”

 

Luke glanced at Claire. “He’s not high, is he?” 

 

She shook her head. 

 

“No, that’s Danny, he-“

 

“He’s gone!” exclaimed Peter, focus and energy returning full-force. He stood as he spoke, hunger and pain moving to the backseat.

 

“He’s out… somewhere. And Matt, he’s back. There’s this- this symbiote,” he looks at Claire seriously, “The monster- What did it look like?”

 

“Creepy and shapeless and-“

 

Peter waved his hands frantically, “No no no no no. Color, the  _ color _ .”

 

Luke straightened slowly. At his full height he towered above Peter, and Peter had to angle his face.

 

“Pitch black.”

 

Then it all came rushing back The glass, the kitchen, the pain. He drew his hand absently to the hole in his suit at the arm. He’d been hurt, needed help, he was-

 

“ _ Venom _ .”

 

The name escaped his throat just as an intense pain erupted from the back of his head. Like his Spidey-Sense right before something wildly intense and dangerous, but all around and non-stop and so loud. His mouth tasted like danger. His eyes could only see exits and his limbs were numb. He grasped his head in agony and doubled over. 

 

There was scrambled motion around him, a jumble of sounds and colors that only added to pain. He felt something crawl just under his skin, and when a hand appeared on his shoulder it  _ burned _ . He hit it away a failing arm.

 

Then, then there was the voice.

 

Wicked and deep and sticky, curving around his mind icily. His heart tightened at the sound.

 

_ Yessss.  _ With the S long and drawn out, like Venom was tasting the sound. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from, if it was real or not. But it was there, encasing his mind.

 

“No! No no NO!”

 

Peter eyes were screwed up, and he wrestled with an unseen force trying to pin his arms down. His chest heaved and then, as soon as it had come, all the pain was gone.

 

He froze his motions, panting.

 

After a moment, when he was sure the voice was gone and his skin had stopped prickling, he opened his eyes.

 

Luke Cage was holding him down, eyes wide and mouth tight. Claire had hands on either side of his head. 

 

“Wow,” mumbled Peter, as Luke pulled back and Peter could still feel the impression were his hands had held his arms. Claire ran her usual checks, a hand against his head, against his neck, then examining his eyes, “You’re really strong, Mr. Cage.”

 

He sat up blearily. Rubbing an eye, he added, “Well, I knew you were strong. Part of the whole unbreakable deal. But jeez.”

 

Claire stared at him. 

 

“I’ve seen a lot of weird things,” she said, voice taut, “I was in the Incident, just like everybody else, and you guys have brought a lot of shit to my doorstep, but Peter,  _ what the hell is happening? _ ”

 

“I don’t know,” he responded, voice small. His arms were limp in his lap and he looked at the floor. Microfibers of carpet flitted through his vision as he sorted them with his eyes, the tan color magnified into flecks of brown and sandy yellow. “I don’t know.”

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“I dunno.” Peter was, in fact, quite sure that he was not okay. Something was very wrong, something under his skin. He didn’t understand it, because the symbiote wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Was this the after effects of the scientifically impossible? Or was he just going crazy?

 

Luke Cage frowned and sat back, crossing his arms. “This is not what I expected when I got acquitted.”

 

Claire furrowed her brows. Peter, memory clearing, tried to fill them in.

 

“It’s called the symbiote,” he started, “it’s this substance, synthesized using my blood by some not-good dudes.”

 

Claire frowned, but this caught Luke’s attention. “Who?”

 

“Oscorp. And Roxxon, kinda. It’s complicated.”

 

Luke nodded, bristling. “I don’t know Oscorp well, but I’ve heard some about Roxxon. Word is they’re bad news.”

 

“Word is right. We broke in, they’re up to a bunch of sketchy things.”

 

“We?”

 

Peter swallowed. He knew that, logically, he could trust Luke Cage. Claire had talked about him on occasion, and his achievements spoke for themselves. Not to mention the fact the he currently knew both Peter’s face and first name. But that was logic. In the back of his mind, his Spidey-Sense was screaming danger. He struggled to suppress it for a moment.

 

“Me, Iron Fist, and Daredevil.”

 

Luke stared at him. “You know Daredevil?”

 

Peter jabbed a thumb in Claire’s direction. “So does she.”

 

“ _ You  _ know Daredevil?”

 

Claire nodded curtly. Luke huffed, but Claire ignored him and pulled out her cell.

 

“I should call him. Was he with you? During the whole- you know,” she asked, dialing.

 

Peter gave a small nod, frowning. He vaguely remembered an awful look of pain on Matt’s face, but couldn’t decide if that was from the attack or something long before it. His memory was all jumbled. For some reason, Claire’s phone reminded him of middle school, but he couldn’t figure out why.

 

God, he hoped Matt was okay.    
  


And where even was Danny?

 

The phone rang and rang and landed straight in voicemail. Claire frowned, and tried again.

 

“Something’s wrong,” said Peter suddenly.

 

“Yeah, something’s wrong. You came in here as a black creepy symbiote that went who knows where and your parental figure isn’t picking up his phone.”

 

“No-” insisted Peter, standing slowly, “Somethings wrong with him… and Dan- Iron Fist. Something feels all wrong.”

 

Dread and warning trickled down his spine. He had to find them. Now.

 

Peter webbed his mask from the other side of the room and caught it in his hands. Claire was on her feet immediately.

 

“Oh, no you don’t. After everything I just saw, you aren’t leaving my sight. I have no clue what’s happening to you, and neither do you. You could hurt yourself just standing!”

 

Peter pulled on his mask anyways, the eye pieces whirring as they adjusted. He could hear a faint buzzing of tech he’d never heard on the suit before. When his eyes had readjusted he found that Luke was on his feet too.

 

“I don’t like this. You don’t even know where they are.”

 

Peter shrugged. “I do, sort of.” That was true, something was pulling at his gut and he knew it would lead him the right way. More certain than he was about plenty of things. “I’ve gotta find them Claire, something’s wrong.”

 

“No way. Not a chance.”

 

The feeling was getting stronger. Danger, displaced danger. He had to  _ go. _

 

“I’ll go,” said Luke valiantly.

 

Peter shook his head urgently. “You don’t even know where they are.”

 

Claire exhaled and ran a hand through her hair, all the way from roots to ends. She closed her eyes and nodded slowly.

  
“Yes, okay. I’ll just send the kid with  _ something _ going horribly wrong with his body and a death wish flying across the city toward a supposed danger that might be anything and might not even  _ exist _ .”

 

Peter took a step towards the window, but Luke caught his arm.

 

“You can’t stop me, Mr. Cage.”

 

“That’s arguable.”

 

Peter frowned. He didn’t know who would win, between him and a literally unbreakable man. But Luke’s grip was soft on his arm.

 

“But I won’t. I’ll go with you.”

 

Claire shook her head but didn’t say anything. She had the same expression that Aunt May used when he was home really late without telling her anything.

 

Peter would’ve maybe thought more about this on a different occasion, but the pull in his gut and the pounding in his head was overriding any of his more logical reasoning. Plus, this man was literally one of his heroes. Couldn’t hurt.

 

“Sure.”

 

Luke nodded. “Lead the way.”

 

Claire sighed and tried to dial Matt again.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long!! Sorry for the wait everyone! What can I say? Author's got a life outside of fanfiction, but I stg the first half of this chapter has been sitting in my documents for months. I know it's been a while, but I hope the wait was worth it for you all.  
> Some of the stuff I worked with in this chapter was complicated, and I'm hoping nothing comes off too confusing.   
> Also I had to reference a lot of my older stuff to make sure that all the facts lined up in this chapter, and BOY were there a lot of typos. Thanks for pushing through those, I know it's a huge problem of mine.  
> Ten brownie points to anyone who can tell me where the title of this chapter is from.  
> And, as always, leave a kudos and a comment. I love hearing your feedback, it's as rewarding as the writing itself.  
> Until next time <3

**Author's Note:**

> I make an abundance of mistakes so feel free to point them out so the next reader doesn't have to see them. Hope you enjoyed :)


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